Split

VIII

GOSH! I feel like EVERYTHING is about Mia. 

Aba says, “can you do this for Mia?” 

“Can you get me a diaper?” 

“Can you change her diaper while I make breakfast?

“Can you shower her?” 

My head is becoming a wave of MiaMiaMiaMiaMiaMia when I’m at Abba’s house. 

IT’S SO ANNOYING! 

She’s cute and all, but requires A WHOLE LOT of attention . . . from everyone.
But of course, it’s not her fault that she came into reality, so . . . yeah. 

Yet I can’t help laughing when she gives me that cute innocent little smile. Or  when she stares into my eyes and I ponder what colour her’s is. Brown? Green? Gray? 

I can’t help myself but be oh-so proud when she moved her leg forward in an attempt to crawl . . . she was just there—causing no harm! And I loved her . . . so much.. 

But all the MiaMiaMiaMia’s where kinda annoying. But I would live happily with her.

VI

Mia is a pretty mellow kid. 

She cries, sure, but not too much. 

I just hate the nostalgia she brings.

 I love her, though. She just makes me really miss being a little kid. On the other hand, I am so excited to be her big sister. I will get to open my imagination as I create hers.

I do love some of the memories she brings of my childhood. But I also hate them. 

Part of me still can’t believe that I even have a new sister. It’s kind of a weird thought. 

Sometimes she screams when I hold her. I guess that’s normal though. I miss my dad and her more and more as I spend time at Ma’s house. 

Sometimes I just want Mia to go away. 

I love her, though.

VI

Mia.

That’s her name. 

That’s my little sister’s name. 

Honestly, it was not my favourite name, but whatever. 

I like it. When you hear everyone refer to a baby as “bundle of joy” it’s not true. Well, sorta. She starts being joyful and smiley a few months after birth. 

But when that time came, it was great. The house became like a new home.

It is so rewarding when I make her laugh. 

But it’s also kinda horrible when I carry her and she cries. 

So, all in all, she’s a cute little baby. 

And a loud one at that. That kid has a special voice.

Juel and I are not sleeping at Aba’s for now. As always, I have mixed feelings—I miss him, a lot. But I also like not having the stress of the back and forth, back and forth, back and forth thing

But especially now, I hate fighting with Ma, because then I want to go to Aba’s. I feel guilty for wanting to go to Aba’s and rage with Ma.. 

But so is life. I just have to get used to my new home.

V

I can’t believe it. 

It’s simply unbelievable. 

I called Aba last night. He said my sister was born. 

I asked what her name was. He said he could not decide. 

Thirty minutes later. He said that my sister came out with a fever. She was separated from Aba and Rebbeca.
For the three days that my sister stayed in the hospital, my dad picked me up from school and took me to a coffee shop. We talked over a juice and a warm croissant. He told me about my sister. I could not believe how much I worried for her. I had not even met her, yet I shed tears for her. I was stressing about her for FAR too long, yet I hoped with all my heart that she would be OK. Most of all, I feared her—or more, what she would bring….but I love her! And I had not even met her yet. . . 

Aba told me every day that he hoped that tomorrow they would be let home

Tomorrow came and passed. 

Aba sent pictures of my cute little sister. 

I still couldn’t believe I had another sister. 

It was unbelievable. 

IV

One week ‘till everything will change. 

One week ‘till I get a little sister.  

I have loads of mixed feelings, hard to interpret, but easily shown. I find myself crying to sleep, my mind on something completely different. 

But is it all connected?

I feel . . . well, that’s the thing.

 I don’t know what I feel. 

And everyone keeps telling me, “It’s okay not to know what you’re feeling.” 

But honestly? 

It’s so  frustrating for me. I know I don’t have to know . . . but I feel like I need to know. And when I don’t? 

Arggggggggggggggggh

So frustrating. I have no way to write about it, no way to let it out. And for me, that is the worst. 

So I guess I just wanted to let it out. 

I guess what I’m trying to say with this whole one week thing is . . .

I hope in one week I’ll know what I feel.

III

Home . . . 

Home means a different thing for different people. Some people say that home is where you hang your hat. Others say that home is where the heart is. 

For me, home is my mom. 

She is the stone . . . the nest. Where things never change. Her home is where my clothes are, books, school stuff, games, et cetera. 

My dad’s house . . .  is different. 

There, I’m living with an almost-total-stranger.

There, I share a room with my sister, Jule, that has nothing that indicates that it would be mine, no paintings, artwork, or the scrap-book themed wall I have with New Yorker cartoons. All of the above is all in my mom’s house.

 Nothing in my dad’s house that is . . . me. 

Especially now, that Rebeca’s clothes litter the mahogany floor of the house, and the soft couch of the sun room.

I wish I could have two homes . . . but it’s not like that . . . for now.

II

My dad is going on his last trip to Colombia. 

Suuuuuuure. 

Last time was the last trip. 

In fact, the last two times were the last trips.

It is breakfast, on the last day with my dad (Sunday). So, we have his famous pancakes, we chat, et cetera. 

“Hey, guys, I have some news,” Aba says to my sister and I. 

Yup. My worst suspicions have just been corrected. He was marrying Rebaca (whom I do not like, as a matter of fact). 

“Rebeca is pregnant,” Aba says bluntly. I get a shiver through my body. No. No, no, no, no. Nope. Not happening. Nuh-uh. Not in a million years. Not ever, actually. 

But of course, it was true. 

Juliette takes a page out of my book, and dashes out of the room (Hey! That’s my thing! You’re just leaving me here? Thanks a lot, Jule!). That leaves my Dad and I. 

“When is the baby due?” I say, breaking the silence.  

“July” He has silent tiltear running down his cheek. I count the months in my head. March, April, May, June, July. Five months. Splendid. 

“Are you and Rebeca going to be married?” I know the answer, and I hate myself for asking the question.

“Yes.”

This was so much change. Too much change. 

I

It is Autumn now.

 I am getting into my annual Blues. I don’t want to, and I don’t really know why this happens. Well, I guess I do. It is because my parents got divorced in Autumn. But it is not like I do this ritual that reminds me, even though I am reminded every second of every day when I see Tom, my stepdad, or Aba, my father. Well, this is different.

It just…happens.

I cry. 

I shout.

I have big feeling that I can’t control. 

I want to go to my dad’s. I want to sleep there. I want to hug him. A day later, I want to be with Ma, my mother, and Tom. I get all worked up, thinking about my dad. Thinking about my mom’s wedding which,  just a few days earlier, I called the best day of my life.

 But was it? 

On top of things, Aba just moved to a lovely house, and told my sister and I that he was moving back home from Colombia. 

I am happy. 

I am sad. 

I don’t know what to think. 

When I am at Ma’s house, I only think about Aba. 

I feel torn, and out of my own control. 

Sometimes I go to sleep crying. I just don’t know what to feel. 

But enough of this. Let me talk about good stuff. 

My mother’s name is Arolac Almendros, and my father’s is Gideon Bates. My mother did not change her name when she married my father, so she stuck with her maiden name, Almendros. Juliette made it quite clear that she likes that one better. 

I don’t really care which one. 

Another difference. Jullie has big opinions on this, but I don’t really. This happens a lot. 

I often feel like she is the eye of the hurricane. She has been everywhere with me. She is with me when we go to my dad’s. She is with me when I am mad at my dad or mom. So when she and I fight I feel sad, and hollow. 

I hate fighting with her, but we both have strong feelings, and opinions. We’ve been arguing more lately. About this and that, you know. 

But we get over it.