Today I want to talk about my sister who has labor and rights over me. My sister Feray…
She’s fifteen years older than me. She has always been like a mother to me. In fact, she’s someone I’m closer to than my mother, someone I share my troubles and joys with.
When I was going to be born, they say at first she didn’t embrace the idea of a small child coming to the house after years, and my other siblings who are thirteen and eleven years older than me also didn’t look favorably on this. They were all high school students.
My sister’s perspective on this event that she was initially cold to changed after I was born. When I look at our old photographs, I can see my sister in her school uniform carrying me on her shoulders and walking around in the garden. I was six years old when my sister was going to get married. I didn’t leave any mischief undone at the wedding. They say I was always jealous of my brother-in-law initially. When they were going to go out, apparently I would arrange with unthinkable excuses for my sister to sit with me in the back of the car and only pay attention to me.
Later, during the times I was living in Istanbul, the person I would call after my father whenever I was in trouble was still my sister. Despite my grumpy attitudes, she has always maintained her composure. The fact that I stayed away from family and stood on my own feet and built a successful career life inevitably made me grumpy.
We always compare my sister to our aunts, that is, to father’s side. Apparently it was a house where there was definitely food to eat at the table and guests never ran out whenever you went home. Most of my father’s family was in Kyrenia, the coastal city. Anyway, my grandfather, that is my grandmother’s father, was a seaman and would trade between Beirut and Alexandria in those days. There’s a saying that those who live close to the sea are more temperate people, I believe this is true.
If asked who compassion suits most, I can answer without hesitation that it suits my sister. Have a nice weekend.