Before becoming a teenager I saw my, now close friend, three-year elder sister J. become one. Remember, I was ten when all these reflections came to my mind gathering the experiences of my few years experience on this world while my sister was becoming thirteen and a real teenager.
The main interest of her life became being cool and of course boys. One thing I’ll never forget was how she would change her voice when she took the phone, after speaking super normal to me and my three-year younger sister G. It was unbelievable! Why would she do that? Why would she turn her voice into such a soft one and loving after screaming at us like a bitch? Why would she just not be herself?
In the midst of all this confusion I would see how the conflicts between J. and my mother would escalate to inconceivable levels. There was a great deal of aggression and repression going on and my courageous sister would question my mum and try to follow her dreams and her hormones as any normal teenager would.
But for me, as an observer, I must admit it was too much, so in the last three years before becoming thirteen, I decided I didn’t want to have all those conflicts with my mother. Anyway, my interests seemed to be very different from the ones of my sister, so I would just dedicate to study a lot and conquer the world with a cool profession and become a different type of woman. I used to play a lot with my younger sister G. because J. would literally discriminate me as much as I would discriminate her. So I took G. as my protegé and between my ten and almost thirteen we would share lots of games with our Barbies, would listen to my mum’s classical and tango LPs, play Plato dialogues in which I was always Socrates (a great influence in my work as a Psychologist afterwards), among many other wonderful games we would create. Those were great times. The world was still a great mystery for us, as my mother wouldn’t allow us to play with other kids cause for her, we, sisters, had to be the best and most important friends. We still are.
But everything changed when I was about to become thirteen. There was a great conflict with my dad, because I refused to kiss him one day, and he became conscious of the silent work my mother was doing to put us against him and I was the one of the three that was incarnating it most rabidly. So he decided to make a trip just with me to the Andes, to visit the aunts and uncles on the side of my mother and to hike a little on the Domuyo Vulcan.
So there we went. That trip changed my life, my relationship with my dad and, as I would never imagine, my way of seeing myself and the art of being a human. But I tell you about it in my following article.
A warm hug,