This morning, at breakfast, my dad and I were having a conversation about cultural differences, since he saw a movie which portrayed that quite admirably last night. Consequently, we ended up talking about my two brothers' wives; Y. and M.
We discussed their unwillingness to adjust to our culture and to (try to) speak our language. I guess it's less of a problem when they actually speak another language that you master as well. But it's totally different when you can't communicate with the other person... at all. Which has been the case with M. for about 3 years now.
All this time has passed and I still don't know who she is and what she's all about. And neither do my parents. I do know she was a total bitch to me when I was in Peru last winter, and that hasn't changed much since we are back.
I liked her when she came to our country 3 years ago, when my brother introduced us to her for the very first time. I liked her. She was sweet, a little shy, but overall warm and helpful. We never really talked, but we did make a few attempts in which she spoke Spanish to me and I replied in Dutch (since she was learning it). But then, after 3 years, I got to know her a little better in her home country, in her comfortable surroundings of her family, and I realized she is not that nice. I'll skip all the details, but let me tell you that I never felt so far from home. I never felt so alone and insignificant. At first, she stopped talking to me in Dutch. Then she stopped talking to me period. After that, she didn't even look at me, like she hated me for being around. As you might understand, this was officially the worst holiday ever. Period.
So I ended up hating her, and her family, and all other Peruvians. Dramatic, huh?
It's just that I've come to identify the place and the people with all the bad memories and feelings I had, and still have. So in a way, it makes sense to me. But I guess... only to me.
And although I feel like a complete sucker for thinking, feeling, admitting or even saying it, I ended up hating my brother as well for loving her. I try my very best to ignore the fact that she hates me and doesn't care about my family, which her antisocial behavior (that clearly states her indifference) proves. And I try to be happy for my brother that he has found the love of his life (apparently) and wants to build a life with her, but I just can't.
My brother and I always have been so close, especially after my mom "got sick". But since he met her, we've been drifting apart. Which escalated since our little "holiday". Now I hardly see him. It's been 3 months since I talked to him. I mean really talked, not the casual chitchat and little jokes. And it hurts me. I miss him. And I wonder if he misses me too.
I know that the bonds you have with your siblings always change when you grow up. It's normal. Of course it'll never be exactly the same. And I know it's normal that you sort of drift apart, start leading your own life. But I guess it's more difficult to accept when I feel so left behind, unimportant, and alone. Especially when I can't communicate, like, or even be around his spouse, his love.
So I started disliking everything that happened to him or in his life. I disliked his new house, which actually isn't that bad, but I still feel like all sorts of things are wrong with it. I disliked that he got a new job in Belgium, which completely cuts him off from our country, and which made me think he'll come visit us even less. And I disliked that he got a dog, with the excuse that he feels a little unsafe in his new house and wants a watch-dog, even though the little puppy looks absolutely adorable.
I hate it. I just hate it.
I hate the fact both my brothers had to marry a peruvian woman.
I hate the fact both of these women are so different in their behavior, compared to any of my friends or people that I know.
I hate the fact that they completely left me AND my parents out of the picture when they got married. We weren't even there, nor invited.
I hate the fact they do this to my parents.
I hate the fact both these women don't seem to want to come over to my parents house to visit them, because I am here.
I hate the fact I feel so unimportant to my brothers, even though me and my oldest brother never were that close.
I hate that I feel so bad for my parents, and so hurt and alone myself.
I hate the fact I can't seem to love my brother in the same way anymore, because I started developing such a strong dislike for his wife.
I hate the fact that I feel I'll never be able to talk to him again like we used to.
I hate the fact that we'll never be all together again as a family, on birthdays and BBQ's.
I hate the fact that I'm scared a day will come that I will never see my brothers again.
But mostly, I hate the fact that I'm unable to love them no matter what happens. That I can't wish them well without hating them at the same time. That I feel like I don't want good things to happen to them, that they don't deserve it.
Mostly, I hate me.