Lately, there's been a lot of talk about family, and the importance of. I admit I have a massive chip on my shoulder about my family, and I'm trying to curb a very distinct and terrible knee-jerk reaction of resentment and spite whenever someone discusses their family with me. Nobody's family is perfect, but I only know what I know, and I know that I couldn't stand to live with my family, and vice versa.

Last night, I did a very stupid thing. I looked for my sister online. Why was it a stupid thing to do? Well, because I chose to run away. I knew that a consequence of that would be leaving her for good, but that doesn't mean I can't think about her. I do, every single day. I miss her voice, her mannerisms, her laugh, her hair, her eyes, her hugs, everything about her. I don't even remember her face anymore.

Thanks to Google Blog Search, I found her. After about three hours of mind-numbing sifting through links with her name relating to allsorts like Voltron, princesses, colours, anime, wicca, and one particular blogger who had Lyme's disease concentrated on writing about her cat's shedding cycle, I found her. She wasn't the Lyme bird, she was the one after that... somewhere in the google blogsearch page of about 50-something. I know, I'm a stubborn and persistent little bastard.

I don't know what I was expecting, but I was surprised nonetheless. She turns sixteen this December, which would put her in Year 11. She goes to a prestigious private girls highschool, and it's evident she does alright in English, as her writing is well composed and eloquent. Her favourite subjects are music and science. She plays the bass, guitar, and violin. She hopes to get into the Conservatorium of Music, if she doesn't pursue something else.

She reads Kerouac, Nabokov, Orwell, Burgess, Ginsberg and Sacks. She watches The OC. She loves Napoleon Dynamite, Amelie, Donnie Darko, Brazil, School of Rock, Lord of the Rings, Dogma, Jay and Silent Bob Strike Back, The Virgin Suicides, Toy Story, Neon Genesis Evangelion, Monty Python, A Clockwork Orange, Bowling for Columbine, Being John Malkovich, About Schmidt, and Lost in Translation.

Her taste in music was a pleasant surprise. She loves Big Band Swing, Yann Tiersen, Beck, Baroque, Sweeney Todd, Carmen, Beethoven, Phantom Planet, Coldplay, Foo Fighters, Red Hot Chili Peppers, Queen, Smashing Pumpkins, R.E.M, Powderfinger, T-Rex, Green Day, and the list goes on. Thank Christ she's not emo or goth.

She reminisces fondly online about a now-cancelled MTV series called Liquid Television, which used to be on at 9pm on Saturday evenings on SBS, nearly ten years ago. We'd watch it together from my grandmother's bed, since we used to visit the grandparents religiously of a Saturday evening. Aeon Flux would be on at 8.30pm, then a five minute tear-jerker ad for the World Wildlife Fund, then Liquid Television. That cunting ad never failed to have me covering my face with a pillow so nobody could see me cry, showing maltreated battery hens, turtles choking on plastic bags, penguins covered in oil, and all of it set to the equally cunting soundtrack of the Pretenders' 'I'll Stand By You.' Cunts.

A little while back, I wrote her an email. I said I didn't want money, attention, forgiveness, or a lecture. I offered my email for communication, and she replied tersely. I resigned myself to that being the first and only communication directly between us for the last four years, though last night I couldn't leave it alone. I emailed her fresh, and divulged a few details of what I was into and up to these days. I mentioned a few good times that we shared, and had a little chuckle at the thought of us as kids, away from all the fighting. I told her I wasn't expecting a reply, though it would be polite of her to, even if it was an epic 'Fuck you, fuck off' tirade.

Another link where she is an active commenter on an anime forum, gleaned some more information about who she is today. Her avatar was of Alex, from Kubrick's film adaptation of Burgess' 'A Clockwork Orange.'

I found this especially peculiar.

When I first left home, I wrote letters home and left messages on the family answering machine, so they'd know I was safe. My mother had a nasty habit of opening mail that wasn't hers, so I never expected the mail addressed to my sister to be read by my sister. One letter to her was a detailed account of my displeasure of viewing a theatrical version of A Clockwork Orange, where the droogs were all women. I found it completely fantastical, as the rape and pillaging scenes weren't conveyed as effectively as I had hoped. I recommended she read the novel and watch the movie whenever mum and dad weren't looking, or at the very least, when she was of age.

I read A Clockwork Orange for the first time from cover to cover shortly after I left home, so unless she dove into a whole new life before school started for the year, she heard it from me first. Maybe I'm being hopeful, but I'm going to take that as a sign that she still thinks of me.