Confide in me.
27 June 2008 @ 01:36 ; 0 CommentsMy sister's keeper.
Two days, and I am finally done with Elliot Perlman's The Reasons I Won't Be Coming. The book is a compilation of short stories, with a smörgåsbord of characters and the circumstances that they are dealing with that led them to being translated onto the pages of the book. Well, not circumstances. It was more like... confessions. Except it's not on the dance floor.
I delved into this book right after finishing another one, also a compilation of short stories. After being slightly disappointed with my previous read I got a little apprehensive about this one. What's so good about short stories? Why can't the author(s) just pick one story and flesh it out properly into a novel instead? Hence, there were times initially when I felt somewhat disconnected with Perlman's tome. However, as I flipped through each page, slowly digest every bit of the stories, then I really got it. I really felt the pangs of emotions.
Perlman did right by starting off the book with something minute. Like an appetizer. Hors d'oeuvres, if you are feeling intellectual. Although I didn't really quite get it. And then slowly it built up. There was a murder mystery - a courtroom trial, in actual fact - that felt a little confusing and slightly frustrating to keep up. Like the roads of Turkey, it was meandering. That story would have been better suited for screen instead of print. Like an episode of CSI. And then there were stories whereby its arrangement didn't really justify its poignancy. Actually I didn't really quite understand why the stories were told the way it were. In my opinion, Perlman had arranged the stories perhaps in chronological order, instead of how it should have been actually ordered- from simple, easy reads, to actually some pretty serious shit. Well, not serious serious, but more like intense. A couple of the stories resonated with me moreso than the others.
Inadvertently, the stories triggered the outpouring of emotions. Anger. Confusion. Poignancy. Pensiveness. Intrigue. Realisation. Resignation. Everything came out, and it all came out like a bowl of Indian rojak. Some were easy to decipher; most of it felt like it was heavily drenched with peanut sauce.
The final story of the book was what set off the basis of this entry. A Tale of Two Cities is about a Russian family who opted to migrate to escape the harsh times of their country. They were unwillingly uprooted to Melbourne, Australia, where the younger of the two siblings, the son, got involved in drugs. It was the determination of the sister in trying to find her brother that made me blog. And think of my sister.
My sister is two years younger than me. Since young we were lumped together (naturally) and thus, we grew up together (well duh). From the comforts of our maternal grandparents' humble abode, to the sudden independence we were thrusted to upon the unwarranted death of my grandmother. We had to make do with a lot of things by ourselves, just us two. There were times I felt as if I was growing up for the both of us. Being the eldest, of course I had to bear responsibilities, for both my sister and myself. It was only during the adolescent years when we slowly drifted apart. We grew into our looks, our identities, our lives, and matured into becoming what we are today. It didn't help that she wanted to be in a secondary school that wasn't of the same as mine, just so that we won't see each other every single day (we were housed in the same primary school).
Sometimes I don't quite get my sister. Sometimes I get mad at her for no apparent reason. Most of the time we keep to ourselves. We don't really share a lot of secrets between us. Our lives are not really parallel. She lives hers and I live mine. Sometimes we talk, but it would take a certain amount of probing before we reveal things. And even then it's not a whole lot of things that we reveal. Some things are better off hidden. Unlike other siblings who boast that they know of their siblings inside and out and gloat about how close they really are, ours is more of the case of living our own lives, but to a certain extent, we still regard ourselves as close. Not close close, but there's still that bond between us. After all, she is my sister. And in spite of the lives that we are living, deep down, she knows that she can always rely on her big brother to sweat the small stuff. And the big stuff too, perhaps. Well, I hope she knows. Because sometimes my sister can be somewhat dense haha.
Sometimes it sucks to be the elder sibling. You have to sacrifice a lot for the ones. You have to be the one to grow up first. You have to take care of them. You have to be an example. Yes, there were times I wished I was an only child. At least I didn't have to think of anyone else but myself and my own happiness. (Human beings are wired to be selfish anyway, right? It's always me, me, me, I, I, I.) There were times I wished I had an older sibling instead of me being the older one. At least someone else had to take the brunt of the responsibility. Countless times I felt like I wasn't living up to expectations of being a brother. It felt like as if I let everyone down. My sister, my parents, myself. That's how I feel right now. But then, at the end of the day, I know that so far, I have done what I am required to do as a brother and a son. Perhaps not so in their eyes, but I know me and I know my achievements. And I should be proud of that. Not live up to other people's expectations but only of my own. (Although I am quite anal and an irritating perfectionist. Damn, I am so hard on myself.)
Pick up The Reasons I Won't Be Coming. Even if you don't read a book that often (tsk). Or have never touched one at all (shame on you!). Or never even heard of a book (I have no words. Seriously). Because it's a compelling read. It's a profound read. It's life, in between those pages.
