Some things are better left behind....

I last saw my brother, Guan, in 1997 during a trip back to Malaysia. We had been separated as young children, with him growing up in a privileged Singapore household while I lived with my aging grandparents in Penang. As our lives diverged and extended in different directions, we saw less and less of each other over time. The separation was made final when I moved to the U.S. in the late 70's. And as our growing life experiences and prejudices shaped our beliefs and opinions, it seemed easier to disagree rather than being cordial. Even the letters we exchanged had an argumentative air, with him being disapproving of the free-for-all "western" culture that he felt I had adopted, and me usually feeling self righteous and defensive.

Nevertheless, we had a nice albeit very short visit that year. We were both curious about each other and it seemed almost hopeful when promises were made afterwards to keep in touch. I think it was genuine at the time because we were caught up in a joyful sibling reunion. It wasn't long however when things slipped back to how it was before. Letters dried up and so did the effort from both sides.

Occasionally a friend would ask if I had heard from my brother. I would downplay the lack of information with face saving responses: "He's moved to Indonesia and it's hard getting in touch;" "He's so busy with work;" "Sure, I hear from him once in a while;" and finally the truth, "We're not close." Over the years thoughts would stream through randomly, wondering where he was and how he was doing.

Fast forward to this September when I found him on Facebook. It was a brainstorm. Why I didn't think of it sooner? A miracle that took less than 20 minutes of searching. He didn't have his privacy settings on, so I was able to verify that this was indeed my brother. This discovery was both thrilling and yet disconcerting. Thrilling because it was him, disconcerting because it was him. I kept going to Guan's page to sneak peeks at his pictures, unsure if I would have recognized him if we passed on the street. All I saw was a nicely dressed, middle aged man with glasses, hair still more black than gray, unassuming.

He never responded. Though it wasn't entirely shocking, it was still a letdown. I had this gut feeling that I might not hear from him but my curiosity got the better of me so I tried. In my mind's eye, he was still that little boy who wore his sandals on the wrong feet, the gullible one I always beat when playing cards, the baby brother who cried easily and got me in trouble for picking on him. My memory of him was tender, fragile and someone whom I regretted never being close to.

In looking back, I realize this was wishful thinking, and maybe that's why it felt disconcerting. I was attempting to reconnect with someone whom I've never been close to for most of my life. Ever since I discovered him on Facebook, my emotions ran the gamut from surprise to curiosity, then uncertainty, followed by the sting of disappointment and finally acceptance. I'm trying to convince myself that this doesn't really matter and that I no longer care. Perhaps I had fooled myself in thinking that he would be that same vulnerable little boy but in reality he had also changed like me. We may have shared the same parentage but there was no glue to keep it together. And for someone who worked hard over the years to maintain this tough shell, I felt foolish and hurt for extending a hand that wasn't accepted. It was a bitter lesson learned that sometimes we can't successfully reconcile our past with our present.

It's ironic and hardly unsurprising that no two people or families will react the same way upon being discovered. About 3 weeks after I had sent my message to Guan, our local newspaper published an article about this man who used Facebook successfully to find and reunite with his mother and siblings after a forty year separation. There was a happy reunion with joyous plans for their future. Though I was glad to read their nice story, part of me couldn't help feeling some regret for my own sense of loss, and failure to reconnect.

Today I'm blessed to have a close group of friends and loved ones, who listen, encourage, console and are supportive and accepting. They know who I am. I am closer to them than I ever will be with my own flesh and blood and I treasure them deeply. Family, after all is where my heart is and they are my chosen family.

                                           Annie and Guan - Penang, Malaysia

This one is for Bebe

I thought about my pug, Bebe tonight.
I had seen her a few weekends ago at my friend Valerie's house, nosing her way around under tables, weaving between chair legs, ever vigilant for any dropped food crumbs.
Poor eyesight, half deaf, more white patches on her muzzle, but still sweet and endearing as ever. She had suffered a small stroke several years ago that had paralyzed one side of her body. Though Bebe eventually recovered, it left her with an odd gait that was a half shuffle, half walk. It didn't change her personality much though since pugs are an odd yet comical breed anyway.

I thought about the past and how things didn't seem like such a big deal before.
The things we worried about then......making money, getting a child through school, knowing their friends or being a good neighbor hold different meaning now.
We didn't have much those days. It didn't mean that we envied anyone less though. We admired their impressive homes, their nice cars or their lavish lifestyles. How naive we were, how impressionable! Later when we learned of someone's drinking problem, troubled marriage, or dysfunctional family difficulties, I would be both amazed and shocked that I didn't see it coming. Quite possibly the clues were there all along but I wasn't paying attention.

I worried about being a good parent. As an under-parented child, I didn't have role models to emulate, no guidance, no support. I went by instinct and my own personal interpretation of how a good parent should be. To me, that was taking care of a family and always being there for them. I didn't want to let anyone down. But I made my share of mistakes whether as a mother, a friend, or a spouse. And sometimes when mistakes go unaddressed and grievances pile on, the ties that bind start to fray and eventually disintegrate. After the divorce, I gave Bebe back to Valerie. She had always kept a houseful of pets, and Bebe had been a gift when we moved into our first home. I reasoned to myself that this was the right thing to do. I didn't want to take the time to care for a dog.

Once in a while, however, an image or memory will trigger these wistful feelings and regretful thoughts. Like this recent one brought on by seeing my old pet. I realized that it was my own short sighted selfishness when I didn't want to take care of her. I didn't want the attachment and reminders of a broken relationship, of losses that could never be regained. I thought that if I didn't have anyone or anything depending on me, I'd be okay. I would be safe from any hurt or worries. As it turned out, I couldn't be more wrong in denying myself these connections. Being caring and nurturing was who I am. I liked feeling useful and being needed, it eased my own insecurities of being accepted, and not rejected.

I am fortunate to have new loved ones in my life today. My life is filled again with caring for others and being connected. Though there are new situations and dilemmas, there are oftentimes just as many new joys and adventures. Keeping people at arm's length to avoid being hurt was not a useful strategy in the end.

Bebe's life is good and she is well loved. Yet I know her days are numbered. Though I will cry hard and grieve deeply when she is gone, I will always treasure our connection.


Bebe in Angel outfit - August 29, 2012

Shapes of the past

I never really knew my father while growing up. By today's standards, he would be called an absentee dad. He was an unattainable mystery to me all those years ago, someone whom my grandparents, my mother and other relatives never talked about. If they did, I rarely heard it. I'd occasionally catch some whispering in low, soft voices that would end abruptly when they saw me. Sometimes I'd see my mother's round face full of sadness, her shoulders slumped and heavy as though life had cheated her out of her last dollar.
Even though I was too young to know what was going on at the time, I sensed that he must have done something wrong for everyone to be so mad at him. Nor did I question why I was being brought up at my grandparent's home. It was just that way as long as I could remember,

The few times he would drop in for a short visit, I would feel both anxious and angry.
Anxious that I wouldn't be recognized, angry that he didn't want to spend time with me, and angrier that he made my mother unhappy. She would hide in another room of the house, trying to eavesdrop on conversations and refusing to come out until he left.

I remember having to be coaxed into saying hello to him, and that he would pat me on the head awkwardly & give me some money before disappearing again. I both hated and treasured those moments. All I could think of as a child was that he had a nice smile and that I desperately wanted him to like me. My father, however, never stayed long enough for me to memorize his face.

Over twenty years later, I uncovered the source of the family discord and unhappiness. My parents had once been happy and in love. They were young and full of hope. This is where the explanation is a little muddier but best as I can tell, he left to find work in another city. My mother stayed behind to take care of me and my younger brother while we lived at his parent's house. Then the unforgivable happened. He met another woman and the separation became permanent. It was a seemingly careless, lousy thing to do and it left us hurt and wounded. 

My father died in the late 70's during a hunting trip into the jungle. Details were few and sketchy. He was not quite forty. By then, I was so far removed from my childhood past, I took the news as though this was some distant relative. Someone whom I barely remembered, someone who had given me up years ago and that I had no connection to. I thought I didn't care.

Now I know better. I did care. I needed that strong father in my life. I wanted to be recognized and accepted. It took a long time to understand why I was intrigued by the emotionally unavailable types. It was easier, a false comfort. Self awareness is a real eye opener.

I will end with this quote by Harper Lee, To Kill a Mockingbird.

“You can choose your friends but you sho' can't choose your family, an' they're still kin to you no matter whether you acknowledge 'em or not, and it makes you look right silly when you don't.”