birthday blog

It's my birthday tomorrow and I'm not too bothered about it. I am realising I'm a much nicer person than I was even 3 or 4 years ago, and I can credit any number of people for that.

I think by the time I was 8 I had been pretty much gutted as a structure. And I have been an angry boy or girl (depending on the circumstances) ever since, and a lot of damage can be done before you stop trying to re-build the interior according to what you think might make you lovable, desirable, and 'happy'.
I was definitely born lovable, desirable and, according to my mother's diary - damn happy. But the first and most important part is the ability to be honest with yourself. After that, as the bard did indeed say, it makes it tough being deceitful to others. 

I've been agonising about some of the many moments of despair in my childhood - there were so many it sometimes feels like an unstoppable flood. And because there are so many exquisite moments of joy and celebration, I find myself feeling guilty about evoking the dark side.

Once, in Malaya, where my dad taught the history of architecture, my Mum was driving my older brother Alan and I along backroads in the country. Malaya in the 50's was a country under British control but with increasing numbers of attacks by small groups of armed vigilantes struggling for independence. We drove endless miles on one lane roads against a backdrop of rubber plantations, palms, rice fields. I picked a fight with Alan, probably out of boredom, and he hit me. I probably hit him back, and he me. I screamed out for my mum to intervene. She then did something that I have never forgiven myself for - she slammed on the brakes, and threw Alan out of the car and left him by the roadside, with her white knuckle rage terrifying both of us. She drove away, with my 10 year old brother standing desperate by the side of the road, tears beginning to well in his eyes. He begged her not to, and so did I.

But she drove away from him, with me staring helplessly out of the back window. Out of sight. I began to panic, and begged her to go back, never realising that my desire to hurt him could result in such abandonment and cruelty. It seemed to go on forever, but probably was only a few minutes, before she did such a wild U turn on the narrow road that I was thrown against the side of the car. As we approached Alan, I had never seen him so defeated. But a growing sense of fear started crawling up my throat.

When we, as a family, moved to Berlin in 1961, just as the Wall was being erected, my life was thrown into a state of terrible chaos. Now my internal chaos was echoing back at me from every part of the place we lived, where my Jewish father deepened his denial about what happened - to members of his own family less than 20 years earlier, where my deeply conflicted gender battle began to manifest itself in the battles at school, where a language I did not speak and a cultural environment which clawed at my very being, isolated me still further. A place where all the nightmares would become my inner friend and betrayer. I remembered recently that when I went to my first German school - without knowing much more than 'Guten Tag' and 'Curry Wurst mit Pomme Frites bitte' - I remember the moment  that I felt, for the first time, that I was in the wrong body. No, not in the wrong body - my body was a perfect, compact little androgyne, but it didn't feel like a girl's body. Not yet. As I was forced into the female curriculum of dance and sewing for girls I had the first serious bout with feeling that I was completely lost, with no hope for recovery. I remember feeling trapped and physically ill.

I went home and cried to my father that he had to, just had to go to the school and insist they let me in the metal work class, the boys class. I don't have a clear recollection of the drama and the fury around this, but for some reason my Dad understood that he had to back me up. He didn't win the battle, but it was one of the few times he took my side. Soon after, my parents moved me to a more 'alternative' school with English as the primary language. It wasn't the complete solution, but it probably saved my life. Until the next time.

I'm thinking of these things now because it's my birthday tomorrow and I keep hoping that one birthday I will wake up and not feel that I am at war. The sun will shine, I will feel no guilt. I will be loved for who I am. The dogs will all be in a good mood. I'm not sure tomorrow's birthday will quite be there.

Comments

[danica]

well happy birthday jill! this was such a beautifully written post, i can only hope it's part of a larger piece, a memoir or a novel, because i will definitely want to read every page of it.

i found my way to your blog by way of mine. basically, romy mentioned you and susie on my blog today and so i wanted to link to you, etc, and here i am. glad to have found you!

and i hope you have a wonderful birthday today...

[danica]

p.s. i love this picture of you. love it.

[Deb in Minnesota]

Happy Birthday, Jill! Sending you good energy and a big smile across the miles.

[Alan]

Happy birthday, Sis, and congratulations on a great piece. If it's any comfort to you, I don't even remember the incident you agonize about (when Mum threw me out of the car). Of course, not being able to remember traumatic incidents is a bad sign in itself. Proves I'm really fucked up.

As for the "small groups of armed vigilantes" in Malaya at the time we were there, they weren't "struggling for independence". They were Communist guerillas struggling to replace the benevolent imperialism of British rule (as represented by our Dad who was sent out by the Colonial Office to found a school of architecture so that the young country would not be dependent on foreign expertise) with a particularly nasty type of despotism. When we arrived in the summer of 1956, the Communists were still strong enough to take pot shots at the train from Singapore to Kuala Lumpur, and the countryside around Kuala Lumpur was still designated a "black area", where you weren't supposed to go without military protection. But the British had them well and truly whipped by August 1957, when the country was stable enough to be handed over to the Malayans. I think that the US could have learned a lot from the way the British handled that ten-year-long insurgency for their struggle against Al Qaida and other dangerous crazies in Iraq, and indeed I think General Petraeus may have studied British tactics, which included "clear and protect" and the coopting of village chiefs for the fight against the Communists, who were totally vicious in their attacks on farmers and traders.

But that's neither here nor there. The point is, it's your birthday, and I'm thinking of you. So is Maria, and so are Jenny and Oliver. That is a beautiful photo of you. Was it taken in Minehead?

I'll try to call, but as you know, Barack "vero possumus" Obama is here in Berlin today and the city is going bonkers. The saviour will be speaking to the masses from the Siegessäule, which you know, and I'll be in a good position to watch him, as I've been invited by Al Jazeera TV to help them cover the event (I kid you not). Apparently, Obama wants to ask the Germans to do more in Afghanistan. Fat chance.

Maria and I will drink a bottle of Spanish rosé wine to you later. Looking forward to your visit in autumn. Take care.

[nina]

Happy Birthday Jill!

I have so many things I want to say to you but lack the command of words which you possess.

I am highly suspicious of Abraham Maslow's hierarchy of needs and his theory of Self Actualization. Don't get me wrong, it sounds like a wonderful place to be. Kinda like being inside Disneyland an hour before the park opens but how many of us ever actually get there?

I relate to your desire to have all the planets align. I can't do much to help with the dogs but I can tell you that you are loved for who you are over here in Boise. Unfortunately, I can't demonstrate this over a cup of tea and conversation. So I will hope that you will find some consolation in my intentions.

Last but not least Jill, you are a very beautiful woman but DAMN you were the most adorable little kid I have ever seen.

Happy Birthday
oxox
nina

[Jill]

Wow, I'm pretty moved by these comments, and of course my big bro Alan, who is too smart for his own good :-) is right to correct my bad history. But then, I probably only spent 50% of my schooldays in school....
As to the rest, thank you to everyone and all the private e mails I've had. Beautiful.
About getting into Disneyland an hour early - that happened to me once - not Disneyland - but the unbelievable and astonishing Matisse exhibit at New York MOMA. It was the day the show opened and I was there with my Dad and Susie. Hundreds of people were lined up, the queue stretching blocks. It was going to be chaos. But we were with a benefactor. A board member at MOMA, and were ushered past the great unwashed through the members door for a private view, with just a few others. There is no doubt it is a wonderful thing to be very powerful and or rich. I wouldn't want it full time though. Just for Matisse.

[Mollissima!]

Happy Birthday, Jill. I hope you find lots of moments in which you're touched by people who remember you on this day.
You're important to a lot of people, Jill, and I'm so glad to know you.
xo, Molly

[Deborah]

Many pleasant returns of the day and beyond.

Peace.

[Jenny]

Loved Jill
Love your entry, Alan just called me to tell me to read it and: he says he can´t remember this moment while HE tells me he left ME once, on a bike, alone, cause he was mad at me- and he still feels sorry and I CAN´T remember...so we´re all fucked up and take our history into our future....but most important: we love each other, we care- that´s all that matters I think!!
All my love- always-
your niece Jen

[Deborah, The Great AND Powerful]

Happy Birthday Jill.