Like in Those Fancy Buffets
Should I waste my time blogging about the phone call that I got today? The truth of the matter is that there's definitely no chemistry whatsoever between us, and even though we have to be in contact, what is the point in doing it if there's nothing to talk about.
It seems to me that every time I get that phone call, I have to end up explaining things that I just don't want to explain. Even more so, if I don't mention what my whereabouts are is because I just don't want her to know, and for that matter the people around her. And today I got the same question like four times in a row, and I answered knowing that she knows the answer but just wants to hear it from me. I just can imagine her on the other side of the line rising her eyebrows and saying "oh, really?", like if she didn't know.
My rational self tells me that at some point our relationship has to change, perhaps evolve, and somehow get alone like two people who really care for each other; but the truth of the matter is that everytime I talk to her, I feel like if I was getting a root canal procedure. I feel that I am not interacting with her, just having to put up with her and dodging her stupid questions and stories that in all honesty I could care fucking less about.
It is horrible to refer to a sister in these terms, but we've never been friends, not even while we were growing up; hell I can't remember the two of us getting alone not even when I was still wetting my bed. We shared an apartment when we were in college and we didn't kill each other because back in those days there was a God. When I went to live in China we had a "good" relationship because the contact between us was as sporadic as a snow storms in Charlotte. Upon my arrival back in South America and during the following year or so, I would venture to say that we had a pretty decent relationship. We were neighbors in the same apartment complex; and maybe the fact that I became best friends with her two roommates and a happy drunkard from Monday to Monday, might have worked as a smoke screen between our abysmal differences.
The last time we share the same roof was when I first moved to the US and for the first couple of months we both surf on that big wave that we have created while being neighbors and happy drunkards. But the wave hit the shore one day and took with it the little respect that I had for her and the willingness to put up with her bullshit. There were entire weeks that we couldn't even look at each other's face without having to yell and point fingers, and I realized that it was just a waste of time and energy to try to sort out whatever differences we might have had. I gave up completely on our relationship and turned into nothing more than an ice sculpture, like those that you see adorning fancy buffets on New Year's Celebrations, retreating into my own world and giving less than shit to whatever she was up to.
She moved back to South America and I don't even remember going to the airport to say good-bye; or maybe I did, but if I did it was such an uneventful memoir for me that it had completely faded away. The next wave of e-mails after her departure was just a collection of "How not to Treat Someone Who Shares your Genes", filled with so much resentment that I re-filed her e-mail account under spam and got all her messages delivered to the trash can. I believe during that time, when we were roommates here in the US and were suppose to be mature enough to apply some emotional intelligence to our relationship, we hit a point of no return. The sad reality is that I'm not sad at all about that; and perhaps the most horrible thing, is that I believe we bring out the worst of each other when we're together: I become a walking iceberg, a fucking piece of rock even though I'm completely the opposite; and she becomes a crazy bitch, even though _______ [fill in the blank as you please, as that's the only personality trace that I know of her].
We talked on the phone today and I had to take a deep breath before dialing. When you have to ask "what's new?" more than three times in a row and get the same fucking answer from me, the best is to hang up and try some other day. We didn't argue today, but I just told her that I was busy doing something and that we will talk some other day. She acted like if we were best friends after a long hiatus in communication, and like if we needed to catch up with the latest news. I just think how hypocrite she was for giving me an "awww" when I told her that I was busy and had to hang up, as the last thing that I told her about me and my life was perhaps when we were happy drunkards -and that was last century.
There you have it, I've wasted a whole forty minutes or so talking about something that I didn't want to and about someone that I could care less about: my older sister. And as horrible as it sounds to refer to a sibling in those terms, this blog wasn't conceived to portray emotions and feelings that aren't true.
It seems to me that every time I get that phone call, I have to end up explaining things that I just don't want to explain. Even more so, if I don't mention what my whereabouts are is because I just don't want her to know, and for that matter the people around her. And today I got the same question like four times in a row, and I answered knowing that she knows the answer but just wants to hear it from me. I just can imagine her on the other side of the line rising her eyebrows and saying "oh, really?", like if she didn't know.
My rational self tells me that at some point our relationship has to change, perhaps evolve, and somehow get alone like two people who really care for each other; but the truth of the matter is that everytime I talk to her, I feel like if I was getting a root canal procedure. I feel that I am not interacting with her, just having to put up with her and dodging her stupid questions and stories that in all honesty I could care fucking less about.
It is horrible to refer to a sister in these terms, but we've never been friends, not even while we were growing up; hell I can't remember the two of us getting alone not even when I was still wetting my bed. We shared an apartment when we were in college and we didn't kill each other because back in those days there was a God. When I went to live in China we had a "good" relationship because the contact between us was as sporadic as a snow storms in Charlotte. Upon my arrival back in South America and during the following year or so, I would venture to say that we had a pretty decent relationship. We were neighbors in the same apartment complex; and maybe the fact that I became best friends with her two roommates and a happy drunkard from Monday to Monday, might have worked as a smoke screen between our abysmal differences.
The last time we share the same roof was when I first moved to the US and for the first couple of months we both surf on that big wave that we have created while being neighbors and happy drunkards. But the wave hit the shore one day and took with it the little respect that I had for her and the willingness to put up with her bullshit. There were entire weeks that we couldn't even look at each other's face without having to yell and point fingers, and I realized that it was just a waste of time and energy to try to sort out whatever differences we might have had. I gave up completely on our relationship and turned into nothing more than an ice sculpture, like those that you see adorning fancy buffets on New Year's Celebrations, retreating into my own world and giving less than shit to whatever she was up to.
She moved back to South America and I don't even remember going to the airport to say good-bye; or maybe I did, but if I did it was such an uneventful memoir for me that it had completely faded away. The next wave of e-mails after her departure was just a collection of "How not to Treat Someone Who Shares your Genes", filled with so much resentment that I re-filed her e-mail account under spam and got all her messages delivered to the trash can. I believe during that time, when we were roommates here in the US and were suppose to be mature enough to apply some emotional intelligence to our relationship, we hit a point of no return. The sad reality is that I'm not sad at all about that; and perhaps the most horrible thing, is that I believe we bring out the worst of each other when we're together: I become a walking iceberg, a fucking piece of rock even though I'm completely the opposite; and she becomes a crazy bitch, even though _______ [fill in the blank as you please, as that's the only personality trace that I know of her].
We talked on the phone today and I had to take a deep breath before dialing. When you have to ask "what's new?" more than three times in a row and get the same fucking answer from me, the best is to hang up and try some other day. We didn't argue today, but I just told her that I was busy doing something and that we will talk some other day. She acted like if we were best friends after a long hiatus in communication, and like if we needed to catch up with the latest news. I just think how hypocrite she was for giving me an "awww" when I told her that I was busy and had to hang up, as the last thing that I told her about me and my life was perhaps when we were happy drunkards -and that was last century.
There you have it, I've wasted a whole forty minutes or so talking about something that I didn't want to and about someone that I could care less about: my older sister. And as horrible as it sounds to refer to a sibling in those terms, this blog wasn't conceived to portray emotions and feelings that aren't true.
Jean-Francois was drunk at 7:19 PM
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home