She was part kid-sister, part best-friend, part daughter, part protege. It is tough to use the past tense. What hurts even more is the feeling that I failed her. That she couldn't share her feelings with me and feel that I could support her.
Perhaps she thought that our lives had drifted too far apart. Her role model (as she confessed to her fave Prof.) had turned out to be struggling financially. But she also wondered at how I didn't mind the struggle. Oh, but I do! But I've been through far worse that now I have hope. I had a point back in the last recession (in 2001-02) when I'd lost all hope and drowned my sorrows in alcohol. I don't think I've ever drunk that much ever since. Perhaps not even at IIMK ;-) Over there I was more happy drunk than sad drunk.
She had followed my mom's script and mine. Caught between the contradictions, she thought at some pint that she was making her own choices. But were they hers or a spaghetti mix of mine and my mom's? I wish we had the good sense to talk plainly to her. To talk about things that are taboo. To ask her what she expected out of a marriage. What did she want out of her life? Did she enjoy sex with her ex-husband? Only then could we have learnt sooner that they never did have sex. Not once in the 3 years they were married. Oh, and just barely made out. WTF! Why couldn't this girl who was such a romantic at heart see that this was an issue!
That was part of the problem. Life as it was didn't interest her. I think she was born to be an artist. She ought to have lived as one. Channeling pain into work. Work could have been cathartic instead of mind-numbing.
She lived on and suffered silently and went through life with a wan smile and thin laughter that few could see through.
I sometimes thought I hate her for not giving us enough time. But she did. We had enough time to save her if we could only hear her silent pleas. And sometimes more vocal ones that fell on deaf ears.
For someone who enjoyed the little pleasures of the world so much, for someone who actually took pride in being an epicure, it was unfathomable that anyone could not enjoy life! Perhaps that is why she didn't feel that she could share her feelings completely with me. If she had though, I hope that I would have reacted with patience and helped her. Then, maybe I wouldn't have lost my former best friend.
When did we stop being best friends? Was it when she started ratting on me? Oh, def then! I hated little-miss-goody-two-shoes! But then we were best friends again when she laughed at when I said how much I had hated her for being the tattle-tale she was. She said that she must have been insufferable. Yes, you were li'l beefy! But despite hating you then, I still loved you. I always did.
We'd tell each other about romantic entanglements. About heartbreaks. So I thought she shared everything with me. Apparently not. She only told me what she thought my mom would disapprove of.
Nobody helped her with the really tough decisions. When I tried to, my parents told me not to interfere with her life as she was an adult. Adult or not, she was a troubled soul who needed help. When you are confused, you need advice to make sure that you are making the right decision. If you are making the wrong decision, you need to be told.
My sister decided to go back and take care of her "husband" who had planted an idea in her mind that they were both depressed people and life was unbearable and they should commit suicide together. Having known this, why did my parents allow her to go back to her life with him? Societal pressure? Perhaps a little. But even more, they were afraid of taking a decision for her and then being blamed for it later.
I was perfectly fine assuming responsibility for such a grave decision. I'd risk my sister's anger 20 years down the line rather than run the slightest risk that I might lose her. But I was not allowed to.
It took her another year to walk out. By then it was too late. She was sinking. I thought we could put her together again. For a while it seemed like we'd succeeded. But it was all smoke and mirrors. She didn't have close friends. She had acquaintances. She never confided in anyone. What was she afraid of? Perhaps because I was accused by mom of over-sharing, she went to the other extreme!
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