Friday, August 18, 2006
I remember reading an article - probably in the New Yorker - that said that a whole bunch of us were twins in the womb, that the other part of us didn't make it to be born, or were absorbed into us. And because of this, many of us have lived our lives feeling as if we're missing something or someone.
Maybe that thing that we're missing - the one thing we really want but can't articulate - is that twin we spent months with and then lost in the womb. Look at Elvis (appropriate as this week was his alleged deathiversary) - he mourned all his life for his twin brother Jesse Garon.
And maybe that's the reason that we meet certain people as adults that we feel we've known our whole lives - as if they were our twins - that other half of ourselves that we've missed for most of our lives, somehow (and forgive me for this Tom Cruise reference) they complete us.
That's certainly felt true for me. I have a brother and a sister whom (who?) I love, an aunt that's a year younger than me and is as close to me as my sister, and they are my true siblings, but there are also those other people I've met who - well, who feel like they might be that lost twin.
They don't have to be the same sex, they certainly don't have to be identical but they are something special and they've felt that way since the very first moment I met them.
There's my friend Heather - who from the very first minute I met her was a best friend. My friend Patrick who became my twin brother right away. My friend Janet - same birthday and everything - who has been twin since the first day we walked around Kitsilano and realized that everything we talked about and loved - from actors to books to music - was duplicated in the other. My big sister twin Stevi - the big sister I've always wanted. And Deb who I'm sure was my sister in another life. And Yazza - my other twisted sister.
It's something you can't plan, can't anticipate, but when it happens it changes your life - for the better.
So thanks and love to my twins - you've helped me fill that empty space.