grieving in advance
i’ve just come home from (what is likely) my last-ever vacation with my eldest sister. she isn’t sick or dying, which i am thankful for, of course. but, she is planning to enter seclusion at a convent on the other side of the world instead – something i understand even less than death.
when i first started questioning my faith in the 8th grade, i confided in her. she ended up telling my mom, who then told me that i should kill myself and that she would buy the rope for me1. like any other 13-year-old, i apologized, wrote ‘i wish my mom would die’ over and over in my diary and then threw myself into religion with desperation. i wanted to be loved. i wanted to be accepted. i wanted to be good again.
i became an avid youth-group participant, held a position in my high-school organization, and even played missionary for a week in one of the provinces here in the philippines. the children there nicknamed me ‘ate magic sarap’2 and then i never saw or heard from them again. i have no idea how they are, where they are, what they’re doing, or whether they held onto any of the things i dutifully recited from our brochures. (i know i did not.)
then, after months and months of praying daily rosaries and attending healing masses, my dad died. the final nail in the coffin of countless other unanswered prayers and poor experiences. i stopped believing again, though not entirely.3 i still believe in fate and intention. i still think the world is magical. i still find meaning in little coincidences, and wonder in the small.
i just don’t think that prayer will save me anymore – and i don’t think it will save anyone else either. aren’t there more tangible ways to contribute to the betterment of the world at large? than holing yourself up and praying all day? i ask her about her reasoning, and she just tells me about how long she's thought about it. how she's afraid of it, but whenever she's there at the convent, things just click into place. she tells me she thinks she's meant to be there.
i’m afraid too. that much i can grasp. but i still cannot fathom her decision when it begins with sacrificing so much. there are the obvious things: you can’t leave the convent (you speak only with your family through bars, once a year, or through handwritten letters), you can’t own a phone (or anything for that matter), you can’t use the internet. then stranger things: you can’t eat meat, you can’t “keep” your name, you can’t look at your reflection in the mirror.
"don’t you want to see what you look like when you get older?" my other sister asks her. we’re drinking alcohol we bought from the nearby izumiya, and eating the leftovers from our nishiki market visit earlier that day. i look down at our unfinished crossword puzzle; trying to think of an answer for ‘safe spaces (7)’. "why would i need to know that?" my eldest sister answers. i can feel my other sister try to meet my gaze, but i don’t want to look up and show the unease on my face.
maybe there is something admirable about being so detached from your own image. i think of the nights i have cried over the way i look, but i still can’t imagine not caring to know the person you are becoming. maybe this is the result of my own conceit. i can’t tell.
i have hobbies and interests, but there’s nothing i love enough to give everything up for. i wonder if i’m even capable of that kind of passion or devotion. i’m a coward in the end. if i had that one thing maybe i could understand her better, instead of being bitter about being one of the things she is leaving behind. (even though i know it's not personal).
especially because it feels that i'm only just getting her back. there is a large enough age gap between the two of us (rather, me and all of my siblings) that for most of my life, i have been chasing after them. when i was a child, she was cresting into high school. when i was an unbearable teenager, she was saying goodbye and leaving to study abroad.
she’s promised to spend one final christmas here, to say goodbye before returning to begin packing up her apartment. she’s promised me her coffee grinder, her stationary collection, her sewing machines – and suddenly i feel so young again. i want to stomp my feet and scream. i'm just a child receiving consolation prizes. she’s moving into another new life stage, but the passing of time will not ferry me to her.
my sister taught me how to take care of my hair (we have the same hair texture), helped me pick out skincare and sunscreen (we have the same eczema-prone skin), built my workout regimen, and has been a shoulder every time i've fought with our mom. is there any time left for me to give something back beyond well-wishes?
when we were in kyoto together, i sat beside her during mass. i watched her absentmindedly clasp her hands together in her lap and i had to look away to stop myself from sobbing.
whenever it is i get to visit her in the far off future, i will look out over the sisters’ veiled heads and search for something familiar. i will not recognize her by the frizzy, wavy hair. i will not recognize her face, how it’s changed after years apart (and, i suppose, neither will she). but i know i will recognize her by the restless way she twiddles her thumbs. just like our dad used to do.
i don’t think i have the right to hold her back from what she wants, and i want her to be happy. and so, i find myself grieving. i don’t know how to understand the loss of her through any other lens than death. i will support her regardless. it’s proof of my faith in something.
will just disclaimer that i don’t hate christianity, catholicism, etc. or bear any ill will towards members of said religions!
you are welcome to come talk about your faith (or lack thereof) with me, or if you’ve had a family member, friend, or any loved one become an aspirant/postulant & take their final vows i would also love to hear about it.