Mon the 5th of Oct – Irresistible force vs. immovable object

I am exercising my right to being a Royal Pain in the Ass Sibling…Poor Mar…I don’t think I am ingratiating myself with her these days. In fact, she rather thinks I’m a big bully…I’m not proud but I do whatever it takes. Out of principle I always ask her to join me every time I go out. Even when she doesn’t feel all that great…I know…I am terrible. Sometimes she is so excessively provoked that she’ll snap: “Paul (spoken in a very annoyed tone which I am extremely familiar with these days). You don’t seem to understand. I AM NOT feeling well. I am nauseous and I am tired and you want me to go out?” My very obtuse response is categorically: “Sooooo…Are you coming then?” Sometimes I push it. Other times it works if I whine long enough as only very experienced whining sisters know how: “C’mon Mahaahaahaar. You know you want to…I’ll race you?”

This morning was no exception and Dad sarcastically asked: “What happens when an irresistible force meets an immovable object?” I guess it depends. Today the immovable object out-stubborned the irresistible force.

Meal times are a torture. Mar thinks the only one cutting her some slack is Dad. He always says: “I know my daughter. If she can eat, she will eat.” Mom and I aren’t as understanding and have a slightly different approach. We push Mar to the limit. Sometimes, she defiantly looks at us and says: “that’s it. I’m done.” To which I respond: “Oh c’mon Mar. You’re doing so well. You’re almost finished. Take a little break and come back for a few more bites!” Or when I snack, again out of principle, I always ask if she wants anything. Sometimes it works. Other times, the immovable object gives me the “I’m nauseous so back off” speech.

I feel very ambiguous about my attitude. At times, a little white feathered angel delicately lands on my shoulder and points out that I am pushing too hard too soon. It reminds me that Mar has gone through so much with tremendous strength and courage. It asks me to have more faith in her and respect her pace. But then, a little red devil brusquely stomps on the other shoulder and whispers in to my ear: “Paul, if you don’t kick her butt, who will? After all, what are sisters for? Oh, and by the way, that chocolate sure looks good, you should have another bite.”

Saturday the 3rd of Oct – Call me George

Forgive me Blog. It’s been 24 days since my last entry. What’s been going on? Well. Ladies and gentlemen…I got it! No. Not the meaning of life nor enlightenment, but my driver’s license! Yep! And bribery was not even involved. I didn’t have to wear a miniskirt or show off my cleavage which would more likely have disappointed since “abundant” is not the operative word here. And now I can “truthfully” say that I got my license on the very first attempt…In Italy that is.

Mara spends most of her days on the couch, sleeping. She’s down to 40Kg and food is still her greatest foe. The doctors lectured her again threatening to hospitalize her if she didn’t gain weight. The mere thought still terrified her enough to compel her to eat a little more. On Monday she had another puncture and I’m pleased to report, she’s clean. Another wave of relief washed through us. These punctures are routine and will happen on a monthly basis. It’s just one of those unpleasant invasive operations that are unfortunate but necessary. Our hearts will always skip a few beats awaiting the results.

She has good days and bad days. On the bad ones, she feels nauseous, crampy, sleepy, depressed and listless. On the good ones, she’ll read the “Economist” or the newspaper and express her poignant views on what the hell is wrong with the world and how to solve it, Mara style (doomsday scenarios are not unheard of). She’ll go for very short accompanied walks wearing a reinforced white mask, shaped like a beak. She then very much resembles a colorful, fragile, exotic looking bird. When she particularly wants attention, with her brightest smile, she’ll say: “By the way Dad, thanks for giving me your blood”. Or if I’m youtubing, she’ll demonstratively sigh and with a very straight face, complain: “I’m so wrinkly and I have no hair”. I’ll look at her, we’ll both crack a smile, I’ll shut down my laptop and patiently respond: “Ok. Are you bored, Mar?”

A few Fridays ago, I was invited out for dinner by Eleonora who works at the residence. It had been such a long time since I had gone out with people of my own age that I was momentarily taken aback. Unsurprisingly my initial response which I very inelegantly blurted out, sounded a bit like this: “Er…I…I…er…I’m not sure. Let me…er…check with my parents first. Oh and it’s Friday…Fish day….” As I listened to my verbally incontinent and incoherent speech, I suddenly mentally slapped myself. What the hell’s wrong with you, Paula?? You’re freakin 33 years old. You don’t need your parent’s permission to go out for dinner. I felt like George Costanza (from Seinfeld) when he moved back in with his folks…“Sure Eleonora, What time and where? I’ll be there!”

And so we went to a newly opened Sushi restaurant with a bunch of her friends…I know…Sushi! For a Nation deeply committed and faithful to Pasta, formulating a sentence containing the words “Sushi in Italy” sounds like a contradiction in terms. Some may even view it as blasphemous. Now, let’s talk numbers. There were 6 of us. 5 women and 1 man (No. He’s not Gay). 3 of them had never eaten Sushi before. 2 will definitely never eat it again. Being the Cosmopolitan - aka control freak when it comes to ordering in restaurants - girl that I am, I proposed to share a mixed platter of sushi. My suggestion was met with such a stunned silence that I heard nothing but the sound of crickets chirping. Finally, after an exhaustive study of the menu, Andrea (the guy) requested a plate of spaghetti and when not available, ordered the next best thing…Noodles. When the few dishes of raw fish arrived, they were looked upon with disgust. Thankfully the conversation flowed and was a lot of fun. One of the girls, Chiara, impressed me with her English: “ I wanta four cat!”

Me: “You mean a fork, Chiara”

Chiara: “Yessa, yessa. I wanta forka”

I tell you, somewhere in this conversation, there is a joke!

After a few Sapporo beers, I self derisively shared my earlier reaction to Eli’s invitation. How weird it felt, after 15 years, to be living again with my parents. At this, Chiara, who’s my age, explained that she only moved out last year and her parents were so outraged, they didn’t speak to her for a couple of months…That certainly puts things in perspective.

Anyway, Overall a highly entertaining evening!