Solace

Dear Siblings,

Although we are all adults now, we never really talk about how we saved each other as children. We lived in a home that felt like a war zone. Tiptoeing through our adolescence, careful not to make a wrong step, in case we caused an explosion. Anything could set them off and we tried and tried and tried to be perfect. We were far from it and paid the price. There was a complexity to our lives not understood by those who didn’t experience it. Every house we lived in was a battlefield. We became familiar with the terrain and learned how to navigate it. Sat up at night in our beds praying for a different life, or a life that was easier than what we had.

As the youngest child, I was obsessed with all of you. By the time I was a conscious human being, three of you were teenagers. You were the coolest, funniest, and most loving people I knew. It didn’t take me long to catch on to what type of environment I was being raised in and I quickly adjusted. I was a quiet observer (most of the time). Our parents appreciated art, but it was clear that that route was not meant for us to take. If they took the time to actually get to know us, the realization that they accidentally raised some of the sweetest, most sensitive artists. We were not afforded the opportunity to be nurtured or have our talents fostered in the way we deserved. Seeing each one of my favorite people get their spirits crushed over and over again broke my heart more times than I count long before any romantic relationship. After an incident, we’d all whisper little encouragements to whoever was hurt and shower them with affection.

Falling asleep was always my favorite part of the day. The cloud that weighed on us ceased to exist for those eight hours. In the time that we were awake, we ran a tight ship. All of us had a silent mutual agreement to suppress, subdue, and censor our true feelings, wants, desires and dreams. Always wanting to scream but staying tight-lipped. Always wanting to go out and have fun with friends but more often than not staying home. The television shows replaying the same episode. We sat around mindlessly, boredom consumed us, tinkering with tape players, recorders, old cameras, looking in cabinets searching in vain, reading books, burning CDs off LimeWire, music videos, the same MTV countdown. Every. Single. Hour. Sneaking Oreos and gummy bears, chalky Flinstone vitamins. Split Nesquick and the sounds of spoons swirling in cups of chocolate milk. Audiobooks, NPR, Reggae. Every action or advocation for ourselves felt gluttonous. Like if one of us suffered we all were obligated to do the same. It was painful and unnecessary but did it anyway because we empathized with one another so deeply. It became part of our routine. We laughed at our pain, mocked and belittled it. It was almost comical. Maybe the reason we were so obsessed with television and movies was that our lives felt that way. That one day we would wake up and Ashton Kutcher would grin at me and say that this was just a prank. He would point out the cameras all over the house and it would be over. We would get to live normal lives, like normal kids. Normal is not the way to describe us. Most of the memories have since faded. Or maybe we made them go away. We found home within each other. All of us did. I found peace within each of you.

Sincerely,

Shika