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Becoming Me
“Which one are you, anyway?” Not
what you may be thinking – a wedding usher trying to decide on which side of
the church to seat a guest - but a regular conversation opener from my
childhood.While I really wanted to
shoot back with, Are you blind, Aren’t you embarrassed to ask a question like
that, instead I would haul out my best puzzled expression as if I was the
confused one.Composure at this moment
meant everything, I relied on my casual answer to bail me out.My twin sister likely has similar
memories.
Yes, my sister and I are
identical. We look and act very much
alike. We even sound alike.Alike enough that I’ve foolishly caught
myself thinking my sister had called when it was only me on my own answering
machine leaving a reminder message. I’ve even done that more than once.We are so alike that friends, and even relatives, had trouble telling us
apart when we were small. As much as I
hated The Question, it seemed an unavoidable part of life.But it did lead to moments where I wanted to
do something really extreme, like paint myself blue, just so that everyone
would know who I was without asking.
Before
I go any further, I should confess that growing up with a twin sister was
fun.My sister was my best friend. We were staunch allies. When I had to stay at the dinner table until
I finished my meal, it was my sister that kept me company. We survived the “matching clothes” era that
most twins go through of same clothes, different colour. I was green, my sister blue.By Grade 2 we had become clever enough to
realize that to be treated as individuals we had to look like individuals. It was like a rite of passage.
We shared a room, a paper route, a
purple banana-seat bike that we won writing an essay for a local newspaper
together. We exchanged confidences, explored secret worlds in our backyard, and
easily swapped homework assignments. I
even remember sharing a good laugh when a sweetheart of mine called our house
and made a heart-rending ten minute apology to my sister before she could
interrupt to say it was her and not me.
Later in high school a similar love of sports and
academics brought us into friendly competition. We still studied together, but exams were the opportunity to
publicly prove that I knew just that little bit more. Once my mother was requested by our Grade 11 English teacher for
a meeting to discuss how this competitiveness was obstructing our
schoolwork. While I learned to subdue
this side of me, the competitive spirit never really left. To prove the point, we graduated high school
with exactly the same grade point average, to the decimal place.
Perhaps these are the reasons a true
sense of independence seemed to escape me. No matter what I did, I was still one of the twins.When high school ended, I saw worlds of opportunity
before me: the obvious answer was heading off to different cities. There was no discussion.In unspoken agreement, we had both decided
it was time to do our own thing, to become ourselves. I relished the idea that people would recognize me, even from a distance. I left
the world of my childhood, my twin world, behind.
My new life was incredibly
refreshing.Prudent hints dropped
during conversation to let people know that I was not my sister were no longer
necessary.And it meant no more blunt
questions asking who I was. Everyone I
met just knew me. In fact I was
astounded at how easy it was to become me. I accepted that in my hometown I could still be mistaken in for my
sister, but never in my university town. I loved it!That’s the moment I
decided to start my life over, a life not being a twin.It was easy. I simply didn’t mention it.I didn’t hide it.I just didn’t
talk about it.
But it worked so well that these
days I find myself going even further. You might even say that I deliberately mislead.When people ask if I have siblings, followed
by the inevitable, Are you older or younger question, I say I’m the
oldest.In my defense, it isn’t exactly
a lie; I am older than both my sister
and my brother, by seven minutes and by five years respectively.Even when people see pictures of my sister
and me, and comment on how similar we look, I am still compelled not to reveal
our true relationship. I keep silent,
letting the subject drift, knowing that when I say nothing this conversation ends. I cling to my independence, my motto
remains: Keep being me. Some of my
closest friends do know, I just have to remember to whom I’ve told what.
It may seem strange to take the
trouble to hide such a small thing, but now I feel that it is important in
keeping my own identity. In some ways,
I suppose this secretiveness has become a part of me. I hope that in doing so you do not think that I am shirking some
kind of duty to report on so-called twin events – if I can feel my sister’s
pain, whether we can send messages to each other without speaking – the kind of
stuff everyone else finds so intriguing.
Sorry to disappoint but, in keeping
with my motto, I won’t divulge that information. I can report, though, that over the years my sister and I have
become less alike. She is married and well
settled, I am not; she runs her own business at home, I work overseas in the
field of human rights; she plays golf, I detest golf; she is a collector, I am
a minimalist, non-stuff kind of person; and we haven’t lived in the same city
since high school.While we will always
have similar mannerisms, a part of me wants to keep our distance, thrives on
the differences. So I find myself,
often intentionally, making contrasting lifestyle choices. Plus, if I’m really honest, I would admit
there is still some leftover competitiveness in my relationship with my sister
from adolescence, when I make completely diverse choices I think it makes any
comparisons less sensible. As if to
prove, if only to myself, that it really is just me.
It’s an ordinary life. Ordinary is exactly what I want to be. No need for blue paint.
Ele Pawelski is presently on a human rights posting in Uzbekistan. She diligently continues
to avoid mentioning her twinness to acquaintances and colleagues.
In her free time, Ele writes and edits articles on human rights themes,
and on pursuing a non-traditional legal career.
She misses Canada greatly and travels home twice a year to visit her sister, family and friends.
Email: Ele Pawelski
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