My Favourite Sister October 30, 2007

Every time I mention to someone that I have 4 sisters, they abruptly ask me “Ooo which one is your favourite?”Lets see now. There’s Mish , Moon, Mol, Me Mannaire, then the Brat. Yeah that’s the order. 5 completely different people, one insanely close family. Mom would even mix up all our names, call out all 5 names about 10 times over until she finds the right one.Growing up it was always “Mish and Moon” or “Mannaire and Mol”. Never “Mannaire and Moon” or “Mol and Mae”. It was just never heard.So who is my favourite?It’s funny how people ask things like that, when there’s some kind of unwritten golden rule that says you can’t pick a favourite from one of your siblings, just like parents shouldn’t pick a favourite child. It just seems a bit wrong.I would always automatically say “Mol.”

So I sat down to think. How come I always choose Mol? Why not the Brat? Why not Moon or Mish?

So why Mol then? She’s a bit of a clown, overly-sensitive, ridiculously caring. One of those people who can never say no. Could it be because my whole childhood was shared with her? Playing games, hanging out, telling secrets, singing old Boyzone and Savage Garden songs while holding massive glass flowers Mom had forbidden us to touch. Pretending to be orphans using the dinner table as a hideout, a basketball for a chicken, and a bouncy toy as a cow. Making wishes every time we light candles we created ourselves by melting others into glass holders. Making up really really dumb songs I still sing sometimes without realising. We had our on little world. They would call us Tom and Jerry, because of how much we fought. Like worst best friends. Our fights never lasted 2 minutes. But everything sort of stopped and was left hanging when she left to study abroad. And I realised that each time I reply “Mol”, I distinctly remember playing games in our beat down old house so many years ago, and I feel that connection so strong again. Thing is, every time she comes for a visit, its sort of like she never really left. Everything just falls back into place again like nothing ever changed. And we’re back to our usual old selves. Mom yelling at us for staying up too late and laughing too loud at 3am. Laughing uncontrollably in public elevators for no apparent reason. Attempting to spray paint an entire rooms furniture with no ventilation whatsoever. Sneaking downstairs in the middle of the night and making up our own concoctions with food that noone else would ever eat. Her shoving a sock in my mouth when I had braces. I’ll never forget the green bat. She’s the Best Friend Sister.

What about Mish. The Brain. Always the one with the answers. The one I always remember whenever faced with a problem. Something comes up. What would Mish do? What would she say? Part guardian, part idol, part crazy DIY lady with unbelievable mental power. Not so connected on a personal level. Like its mostly oh this happened and that happened. Then once in a blue moon, bam! We have this one on one deep, brain-racking, life-changing talk. So unexpected. And its never planned out. Picture this. Middle of a great vacation. Sitting alone in the living room drinking tea at 2am. Everyone’s else is asleep. She walks in and sits down because neither of us can sleep. Simple, normal, nothing going on here. Then this stupid idiotic thing inside me is like, “Speak now or forever hold your peace”. And I end up spilling the beans on pretty much everything. Its not like I need to be talked to or something. But I always wanted to know the smart choice, the smart actions, and smart way to do things. She never gave me those answers. She would question, and dig, and prod here and there until I figured out what to do for myself. She makes me answer myself, she makes me use my own mental power. I don’t know how she does it. I’m not saying she’s flawless. The smart way isn’t necessarily the right way. She wasn’t very smart when she sprayed disinfectant on Mols beoloved snails. Or when she said 3ilcha. But its weird how when she freaks out about something, everything around me crashes down, because she’s supposed to be the one who keeps everyone else calm, the one who makes it all okay. She’s the Guiding Sister.

Then there’s Moon. The Thinker. Worries too much, doesn’t live in the moment, and a bit helpless I must admit. Always something on her mind. I sometimes feel like she WANTS to worry about something, like she NEEDS to have something to keep her mind so pre-occupied. Maybe its running away from something, maybe its lack of something else to do. I noted this down one time – I always notice she eats really slowly. So I took my time to watch her eat. I observed. She wouldn’t even talk during a meal when thinking. So deep in thought that she fills up her spoon, sets it down neatly, sits for a moment or two, sighs, then resumes eating. A bit strange, but always funny when I imitate her. So what is it about her that pulls me in? This quiet, vulnerable, anxious person? I’m not so sure. She’s kind of a question mark. At times she’s the biggest goofball ever. Laughing, being fun and talking like she drank 600 Red Bull shots. Going to karate class with fluffy slippers, misplacing an entire SUV, creating a mix tape, with absolutely no music on it. Then at times she does the thinking thing. Its at those times that I want to stick close. To know. What is it. What what what. But I never ask. I wait for her to speak. She hardly ever does. We sometimes have those outings of ours, to cafes or restaurants. Comfortable places with great atmospheres, perfect for intense talks with no disturbance. But the intense talk part only comes for about 10 minutes, and its never really intense. We cover up the intense parts with nervous laughter and mumbling nothings. But those 10 minutes pull us so much closer. We just never realise it. Its always fun having random screaming fits in her car, imagining a crazy guy jumping out at us while driving home in the dark was one funny time. She’s the one you’re close to but not close to. The one who you don’t talk to about a problem, but know its right to. The one who wont always give an answer, but will always make you feel better somehow. She’s the Sister sister.

Last but not least, Mae. The Brat as we call her. We called her that when she was about 2 years old, and it just stuck. Always up to something. Making something. Sewing something. Creating something. Baking something. Working on something on the computer. I’ve never seen her just sit. Unless she’s watching tv. And even then she has something on her mind that she wants to do. Half the time we fight like mad. Cussing and punching at times. We keep our distance. But when we’re forced to be together like in the car, or when everyone is out except us at home, its like were best friends. We make a few snacks, put in a movie, and watch and laugh till our sides hurt. Its like an on and off switch between us. An absurdly generous girl, always thinking of others, befriending those she doesn’t even know. Sometimes confused trying to please everyone around her she loses herself, then snaps back into her old self. She’s the company I never crave for a month, then suddenly realise how much I miss her. We always laugh at the same things, even if others don’t find them that funny. Read the same books. Like the same movies. She annoys me so much at times, but hey, what are sisters for. I’ve always gotten clothes for Christmas. But in 2003 I got this bright yellow jacket from her. It became known as “The Yellow Jacket”. A household name. A Legend. I live in it. No joke. My family (especially Dad) have threatened to throw it out because of how shabby its become. But I wont allow it. Its like an invisible connection to the one sister I was never really connected to. The Jacket = the Brat. We’re the same but really really really not the same. She’s the Buddy Sister.

All so different yet so remarkably alike in the strangest ways. It’s a “Sister Thing”.

So why Mol? I’ve always answered “Mol”. Without taking a moment to think. Well now I have. I have memories with her, alot more than with the rest of my sisters. But memories and moments are two different things.

Without Mol I would be boring and mean.

Without Mish I would be scared and lose myself.

Without Moon I would never take a moment to think.

Without the Brat I would be alone and depressed.

They’re all such big parts of me. How am I meant to choose?

You see that’s the beauty of it. I’ll never have to.

They’re my sisters.