Sibling Rivalries

It was a warm enchanted night along the coastline of the land of Nod, just east of Eden, Cain and Awan were enjoying the glimmer of the moon as they cozied up along the shore, sipping their fruity cocktails, savoring the moment together, while they snuggled, enjoying the breath of the summer breeze caressing their skin.In the middle of this perfect setting, Awan had prepped herself for Cain’s proposal, anxious that he would drop the bomb any minute.Cain said, “Can you promise me, we will only have one child?” the question crushed the mood of the otherwise sensuous night. “Huh?” Awan asked annoyed. “Where’s THAT coming from?” She thought he was going to pop the question and take their relationship to the next level, but instead it seemed he’d taken it two steps back! Cain was loathe to recall how he and his brother had fought tooth and nail since they were toddlers.She stirred herself sitting upright not understanding why he would only want one child to begin with; she grew up in a family of eleven kids! “Hey, it was fun and rowdy!” she said. “What’s the matter with you? You don’t know what you are missing. I am sure you would have loved it! ”“Well, I grew up being the apple of my father’s eye.” Cain launched into it, “We were two boys and a girl. My sister Lulu, really Luluwa, but Lulu for short; she was the youngest. She was also treated like a princess; no surprise there!” “OH, and my poor brother, the middle child, and did he ever resented it!” Cain sighed with a half sarcastically. “The affections of my parents must’ve somehow skipped from the eldest to the youngest always managing to miss the poor neglected middle kid. Well to hear him tell it anyway.”Awan’s brow knitted together, and facial muscles grimaced as she listened intently to Cain’s histrionic grousing. “It began when we were kids, when they put us in the bathtub together; understandably I tried to drown him. My mother screamed at me after I’d taken a beating for it, ‘for God’s sake, why did you do that’?” “Well, I explained that he’d pooped in the tub so he deserved it!” Cain defended his actions candidly as he unfolded the story.Awan settled in for what she knew was going to be a long night. She laid her head comfortably on Cain’s lap, while he stroked her hair.“Many similar incidents transpired as we grew up, Awan. My brother just hated everything about me.” Cain was in a rare form with his patented blend of self-pity and narcissism she was familiar already with. “One of the worst incidents was when my father had funded my business unreservedly and then when my little ingrate of a brother pitched his grand scheme, my father flatly refused to back him.” That did seemed unfair to Awan, but she said nothing more than, “Hmmm.” Sipping his drink, Cain continued in a melodic voice, “My mom always compensated for any minor slights making sure lil’ Abel got his equal share.” He mocked, “but Awan, here is the worst of it; when our father died, my mother became worried once again and promised little Able the prize piece of real estate in the choicest location for his inheritance! It was the best amongst all my father’s holdings and by rights should have gone to the eldest.” Cain said pointing his finger at his chest.Awan tried to look baffled by these revelations, shaking her head from left to right. She pondered over just what sort of family she’d be marrying into after all.Cain painted a gallant picture of himself as he continued. “Feeling slightly guilty about the accident of my birth by being born the eldest giving me the advantage, I suggested to my mother that she let the younger kids take what they wanted and I’d take whatever property was leftover. Besides, I knew neither of them was even remotely knowledgeable about real estate to begin with; they’d just want to live in the old Victorian house we grew up in never venturing out of their comfort zone.” So as the story went on, Awan learned that Mama Eve had called her children to a meeting after her husband has died for the reading of the will. She had explained the logic behind each of their inheritances. As soon as Able found out that he got the prized real estate, he turned to Cain and needled him saying, ‘As soon as I get the house, the first thing I’m gonna’ do is to kick you out. Comprende?’Cain shrugged with a look of complete innocence, “I was still living there and working hard to maintain the property! So for once in my life, my mom broke into the conversation and stuck up for me; she retracted her promise to Abel! She said, ‘No. No! NO! You don’t get to treat your brother that way… I am redoing the will!’ and that’s what she did!” So whatever you may have heard, this is the true story of how Cain, in the end, inherited Adam’s Victorian mansion that sat in the middle of the uppity neighborhood of Nod… or at least that’s Cain’s version of the story! Shortly thereafter, Abel stopped talking to Cain and his mother for many years! He died young, and under mysterious circumstances that may or may not be all that relevant to this part of the story. Suffice it to say, that it was for this reason that before they married, Cain had told Awan, “I don’t want to raise children like that; I’m only going to raise one child so history can’t repeat itself!” ***** How should parents handle Sibling Rivalry? We were 7 kids. My Dad’s attitude was, “Of course, if you come to me, then I will naturally like you as well. If you ignore me, I wont care for you as much either! People say you love all your children equally, but that’s B.S.! I am only human and favoritism is a two way street!”So my mom, like Eve the first mother, was always looking out for the neglected child, and made sure she or he was duly compensated. That IS a mother’s role, is it not? ******* My husband Darwin’s mother handled it differently. I’d never met her as she’d passed years before, but he recounted to me how she let each child believe that they were her favorite until her last breath, so that when confronted with grief, each child would take comfort in the knowledge that they were special, each believing they were her favorite. Well, at least until they compared notes! His brother, Bill would eventually blurt out, “She said I was her favorite!”“Really? She said that about me too!” my husband, Darwin said.“Oh, those were her last words to me!” Misty the elder sister would chime in.They all had a good laugh! And what a smart mom she was, because after all, the last laugh was really hers! ****** My grandmother, Mama Dingding and her sister were the only two girls in the family. Fate had taken them on many twisted turns; they had not spoken to each other for many years as they fought their bitter war against one another. Their properties and inheritances drew them further apart. On the one hand, my grandaunt, Lola Bea married a man who loved women, gambled, and squandered her property. My grandmother, on the other hand, was wiser, more frugal, and was in complete control of her assets.In the end, my grandaunt died penniless, sick, and poor, but there remained a conflict persisting throughout her lineage even unto this day. Among her children, grandchildren, and great grandchildren, similar disputes prevailed, brother against brother, and generation against generation. I wondered if this was perhaps the results of their sibling rivalries? This is the reason why my father did not want to separate my sister and I while growing up. He insisted that he’d wanted us to watch out for each other, but at the same time, he and my mother pitted us against one another, forever comparing us in a competition to determine who was the smartest, the most beautiful or the shapelier of their daughters? As much as we love each other, we were always in the arena unwittingly, and against our wills, to compete with one another. We were like the gladiatorial debutants, our parents taking sides against each other making their best cases.So where did this cut-throated rivalry begin? Is it generations long forgotten, the parents, my siblings, or from the very beginning, simply human nature?You tell me?

Behind the scene, writing a memoir.

Ten years. It only took me more than ten years to wrap up my memoir. Why did it take so long? I only knew the book had to be written. It kept gradually crawling its way back into my cells. I needed to get it out, or I’d be sick! Like cancer, it was eating away at me slowly on a daily basis. So, I knew I needed to write the story out of my system or suffer a slow painful death.

I had no problem with writing. I could write my brains and heart out without a pause, and then keep on writing until the break of dawn. But I did get stuck on the logistics. I didn’t know if I should write from a first person or third person point of view. I struggled with whether to write my memoir in my voice or my father’s voice. I tried to do both. Is that even allowed?

I struggled with whether to make fiction or non-fiction? I wrote and wrote, despite the war raging in my head. I went back and forth writing it over and over in first person, third person, fiction, non-fiction, a child’s perspective, and an adult’s!

Names, when I got to the names I didn’t know if they should be real names or fictitious names? What if I inadvertently hurt feelings of a loved one? What if someone sues me!? What if I got so much political blow back that I could never go back to my island or my country? Uggh! You’d think writing would be more fun! For that matter, it should make my heart sing and my soul glow. Why so many complications?

I began to visit various writing groups, making friends, but also struggled with their comments. There was so many suggestions or corrections to make that I thought I would lose my voice entirely and that I’d never be finished with my manuscript at all.

Then when my father passed away, I finally felt free to write without abandon. My inner voice prevailed. I just did it. I just kept on writing. Prior to his passing, he actually gave me license to tell his story, or rather he gave me his blessing. In fact, prior to his death he had fully cooperated and started writing chapters outlines himself or at least summaries. In the end, he’d hired a cousin of mine, who happened to be the city’s historian to help him write down his thoughts.

Dad flew him to Manila to interview his friend Ben G, a business tycoon who owned shipping vessels. He had been a political prisoner also. They were all so reluctant to share their stories because it was too painful for them to even remember.

So when Dad passed away, I finally felt free to tell his story although I still feel some nudges from the other side. I was still conflicted and continued to wrestle with the remaining issue of how to handle political disclosures. I was still somewhat stuck with the dilemma of first and third person voice, fiction or non-fiction, until as if by divine intervention, I met Darby who was a journalist and an author who had published several of books.

“First, let’s get the skeletons out of the closet,” she suggested “and go from there.” Yeah, right. Bare the bones and all! But with her professional guidance, she helped to bring the story out of me. With her editorials skills we collaborated to organize my memoir adding a backbone, a structure and a proper timeline.

Although I speak four languages, English was my country’s first language, well nearly its’s first language. Darby explained in a gentle soft manner that there’s a certain kind of English that’s more acceptable for most readers. I’d heard of American or British English, or even Australian English, for that matter. Even though, I grew up reading and writing in English in schools and in my universities, and though I lived in the US for more than a decade, this was new to me. She translated ‘my English’ into a ‘readers English’. With her kind guidance and professionalism, my book came into fruition and that was how “The Doorbell, the Dictator and the Dad” by Mitos Suson and Darby Patterson was born!

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