Three Sisters or Zero

Eye-Opening Moments Unleashed are real-life stories of adversity, encounters, and perspectives intertwined. They are moments that can lift your spirits, give you some food for thought, or move you. For the introspective mind that likes to reflect, discover, and find solutions or meaning in a complex life, this is for you. In this episode you will hear about Three Sisters or Zero.

         
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Transcript

Hello and welcome to episode #238 of Eye-Opening Moments Unleashed where you’ll hear stories of adversity, encounters, and perspectives intertwined. They are moments that can lift your spirits, give you some food for thought, or move you. For the introspective mind that likes to reflect, discover, and find solutions or meaning in a complex life, this is for you. I’m your host Emily Kay Tan. In this episode, you will hear about Three Sisters or Zero.

Three Sisters or Zero

I remember when Rebecca, my older sister, made a Southern breakfast of grits, hashbrowns, and sausages for me because it was the first and last time she cooked a meal for me. I reminisce when Hannah, my younger sister, taught me how to ride a bike and make a ballerina pose because it was the first and last time I had a sister teach me anything. I muse at how Nicky, my youngest sister, would buy me little things to say sorry for something she did because she angered me. I have three sisters, but you would never know it because you could rarely find us together.

Grandma Betsy took care of me at one, and then Grandma Sandy whisked me a thousand miles away to care for me at five. Raised by two grandmothers, you would think I was orphaned, but I was not. Mom was alive and well and still reproducing. I never understood why she kept having kids and only sent them away later. At any rate, that was why you rarely found my sisters and me together.

I only remember my three sisters and I in one place when Auntie Cassie married. I was fourteen, old enough to remember. But I never remember having a group chat with my sisters or any sisterly activities together. When I married, one sister wasn’t present because Mom did not allow it. She thought Hannah would be an embarrassment because she was a single mom and a divorcee. When Grandpa and Grandma died, one or two of us were missing because Mom didn’t inform us. My sisters and I never developed any bond because I was separated from them early on and only met occasionally.

However, there were a few occasions when we spent some time together, not all together, but separately. Two years of living in the same household with my big sister and younger sister, we spent a small amount of time together as teenagers. It wouldn’t be the three of us together; it would be me with one or the other. And even then, not much happened, but what little happened, I remember.

Rebecca never felt like an older sister to me. We never did anything together, and we hardly had much conversation. She was only a year and a half older than me, yet we found no common ground. She spent her time putting on makeup, choosing what to wear, thinking about boys, and getting ready for dates at fifteen. On the other hand, I enjoyed listening to music and reading romance novels in my bedroom. The only time Rebecca had any semblance of an older sister was when I moved in during my sophomore year of high school. She came looking for me to fetch me to have lunch with her and her friends in the high school cafeteria. 

Many years later, when I got engaged and returned to my parents’ home with my fiancé for a visit, I saw Rebecca again. We dressed up and took many pictures together in my parents’ house. We took many smiling pictures together because it was rare for us to be together, but there was no warmth between us. We were not enemies, but we just never bonded.

About nine years had passed, and I decided to call dear Rebecca to talk with her because she was my sister, and I wished I had a big sister. My efforts lasted about a year to give her monthly calls. She only called me twice, while I initiated all the other calls. I enjoyed having conversations with her, but one day, I stopped. I got tired of the one-way relationship. My efforts to initiate nearly every conversation and lead the dialogues exhausted me, so I stopped. I rested, and Rebecca never called me. I got the message. I was the only one who desperately wanted a connection with my big sister.

My younger sister Hannah and I were Sagittarians, so we had much in common. As a teenager, she was busy with ballet and gymnastics classes after school. I was busy reading romance novels, listening to music, and daydreaming in my bedroom. Once in a while, we got together somewhere in the house. Ingrained in my memory was our run-in at the bathroom. The bathroom was the size of 100 square feet room. Hannah sat on the two-sink counter, and I stood nearby. We looked at each other. Hannah stared at me and said I looked beautiful. I thought it was a strange and untrue comment. “No, you are beautiful,” I responded. “You are the one with the big eyes and white (or fair) skin.” I can vividly see Hannah now; she is beautiful, and I look nothing like her even though we are from the same parents.

On another occasion, I ran into Hannah in the living room. This place was usually reserved for guests who visited the house, so no one went there often. However, I saw Hannah dancing and looking at her posture in a wall of mirrors. I walked in, and she quickly showed me how to make the ballerina pose. I have no interest in ballet, but I will forever remember Hannah demonstrating the pose for me to learn. 

Another time, I ran into Hannah riding her bike outside the house. Before I knew it, I was sitting on the bike, and Hannah was teaching me how to ride it! My younger sister held onto the bike while I wobbled it like crazy. I embarrassed myself that I did not know how to ride a bike, and having my younger sister teach me was even more embarrassing. But it was me feeling it all in my head. Hannah was happy to teach me, and I did learn how to ride a bike. I am always delighted to see a bike and think of riding it in the wind through scenes of greenery or anywhere. And I remember it was my sister Hannah who taught me.

After two years of living under the same roof as teenagers, I returned to living with Grandma Sandy over a thousand miles away, and I didn’t see Hannah until after college. That was about eight years of no contact. How or why we connected at that time is a mystery to me, but I remember being in my first apartment, which had ugly, shaggy orange carpeting, and I was on the phone with Hannah.

Hannah and I conversed easily. She told me about her abusive husband. I went to visit her and saw her unfriendly husband. It was a sad scene. We slept on the floor with no mattresses because there was no bed. There was only one bedroom, and sleeping in the same room with them felt uncomfortable. We sat on the floor to eat without tables or chairs around. We had fun going out together. I was glad to have the chance to go out and paint the town with my sister, even if it was for a short time.

Hannah and I did not live in the same state but kept in touch periodically. I recall another phone call while I was in the bedroom of my first house when I married. Sitting on my beautiful emerald green comforter, I chatted on the phone with Hannah. Ingrained in my memory, Hannah said something I never forgot. I learned why she called me. Rebecca, my older sister, rarely called me, but Hannah, my younger sister, called me every so often for a reason. “Emily, I need to talk to you because you are the one who understands misery. Rebecca always got everything she wanted from Mom and Dad, so she doesn’t understand misery,” said Hannah. Hannah’s words broke my heart. I wanted to cry. I widened my eyes because I didn’t want to cry. I grounded my teeth because a bit of anger heaved from within. I closed my eyes to stop the tears. Hannah was correct. I knew misery.

Hannah called me; she wanted to talk to me because she needed someone to share her misery, and she knew I would understand her pain. She said talking to me always made her feel better. But it did not make me feel good. I wanted a sister. I wanted someone to chat with about good things and bad things. I realized our conversations were always about her misery. She never cared to ask anything about my life. I didn’t have a sister who wanted to be my sister. Years later, I moved. I did not provide a forwarding number, and life moved on without Hannah. If you want to be in touch with anyone, you can find them, especially with today’s technology. I haven’t been found yet.

Where was my baby sister Nicky when I was under the same roof with Rebecca and Hannah as a teenager for two years? Mom sent her to live with Grandma Sandy. After my two-year trip home, I returned to Grandma and found myself sharing a room with thirteen-year-old Nicky.

Nicky and I were like roommates. Roomed together, I began to get acquainted with Nicky. We shopped together and chatted about I don’t know what. For that one year together before I left for college, Nicky left two indelible marks on me. 

One Friday night, we talked about going shopping downtown the next day. I told her I would meet her outside the Park Street Station of the subway system at one o’clock. The next day came, and I arrived early to meet Nicky. After waiting ten minutes after one o’clock, I thought she was running late. After half an hour, I wondered what happened. After forty-five minutes, I thought, Did she forget? How could she forget? We just talked about it the night before. What happened? I told myself she couldn’t have forgotten, so I waited some more. I paced around and fumed, and my head burned hotter and hotter. I waited for two hours and she never showed up. That day, I vowed never to wait for a person that long again. It was all my fault for staying, waiting, and getting angry.

Too angry to do any shopping, I hopped on the subway train to go home. There was Nicky comfortably lying on the bed, reading a book. “What happened?” I asked. Nicky replied matter-of-factly, “Oh, I didn’t feel like going shopping anymore. She didn’t seem to have a care in the world while my world exploded. I didn’t yell at her. Being my little sister, I didn’t think she could understand my anger. I shook my head. I didn’t trust her anymore. I couldn’t count on her anymore. I wasn’t going to wait for anyone anymore. 

Nicky knew I was angry, so what did she do? She did what she always did. She bought me a little something to say she was sorry. I would be happy for a few minutes, but I hated what she did even more. It reminded me of our mother. Ah, she learned it from Mom. Solve problems by buying something for someone. Whenever someone got angry, Mom bought something instead of communicating for clarification. Mom made me hate money. She thought money could solve all problems. Maybe it does in some people’s views, but it certainly never improved any of the relationships in my family.

Nicky soon started high school, and I went to college in another state. I never saw her again until I got married twelve years later. We were not enemies or friends. She did reach out to me when she got married, but I did not reply. After trying to connect with my sisters on and off for many years, I was tired of trying so hard. 

While chatting with my friend Sonny about one-way relationships, he said they were not relationships. It hit me. I tried to make relationships that were nonexistent, stupid me. Acceptance struck me. It takes two to make a relationship. There is no relationship if both parties are not putting their feet forward or reaching out to connect.

Key Takeaway: Though I have three sisters, we hardly had a relationship, but I learned acceptance and that it takes two to make a relationship.

Next week, you will hear a new real-life story called His Life Was in My Hands. If you enjoyed this episode of Eye-Opening Moments Unleashed, please text someone and ask them what they think about this podcast, or go to www.inspiremereads.com and leave a message. Thank you for listening!