I could pretend to be all cool all about it and act like it’s the most natural thing, but I can’t lie. This past 2 weeks have been pretty awesome! There’s a certain giddy rush to heading a house, even if I am doing a sloppy job of it. I thought living with my teen brother with my parents away for umrah meant the workload wouldn’t be so taxing, especially when it comes to food. I’m not a fussy person, I can eat scraps and leftovers and be happy enough. Unfortunately, Luqman made it a big point to remind me the very first day that he was a growing boy, in need of lots (and lots) of good nutritious meals every day, so there goes the toast-for-dinner idea. But it’s been invigorating so far, managing the bills, the groceries, the bookkeeping, the cars, the security, and still stuck with errands even with my parents in another country. For one thing, I got a taste of what it’s like to make my own decisions on how the house should run (along with the consequences should those decisions blow up in my face) and for another, I now know for sure I’m capable of being independent. It isn’t that I let myself be babied around before this, but the opportunity never really arose until now. When you live under your parents’ roof, you have to follow their rules so you can’t really march to your own beat until you have a place of your own. That’s another thing I’ve been having fancy thoughts about lately: leaving the nest and getting a place of my own.
Of course, when I haven’t decided on a career path and don’t have enough savings to pay the rent of a decent place to live in, that stays a thought until further notice. Besides, I like staying with my parents and helping out, even if it gets a little trying sometimes. They’re still my parents, and anything else takes a backseat.
Speaking of leaving the nest, guess who’s finally gone off to live down south for the next few months? I’ve been helping her move into her dorm during the weekend and to get her settled in. She was a little bummed my parents couldn’t be around for the send-off, but she’s doing alright. I guess it’s time I stop calling her my kid sister, now that she’s all grown up and learning to stand on her own two feet.
I worry for her. I worry, not because she can’t handle herself, but because she’s so trusting, and open, and untainted, like Marianne Dashwood from Sense and Sensibility. She wears her heart on her sleeve, and when she gives it to people, she can never give it in halves. That’s what I’m worried about most, because people have a tendency of taking advantage of that naivety.
I don’t miss her. Not really, no. What I miss is the insanity of the house when she’s around, and playing hip-hop music really loud in the car with her sitting right next to me trying to turn the volume down (after which I’ll turn it right back up), and not knowing the next thing that’s going to come out of her mouth because she’s unpredictable like that, and her seriously lame jokes, and her brutal honesty, and our dumb blonde superficial moments, and her dramatic outbursts, and the things only we can understand, and the fact that she laughs the loudest when I get stupid, and her help as my fashion guru, and going out where we find hideous clothes for each other to wear, and my spotting cute guys for her to smile at (Astaghfirullah), and times like when we got stuck at the toll lane because she was holding the Smart Tag upside down (and we were yelling at each other before she realised her mistake) and that time at the mosque.
I have to tell you about the mosque incident.
We were running late for Zuhr, and stopped at a mosque to pray. There was a lady with her son sitting at the back of the Muslimat area having a gala time burping the mosque down. It was really disturbing, not to mention gross. I stared a little, but she went right on with her disgustingly loud burps and pretended we weren’t there. To make matters worse, her toddler son (who was probably inspired by mummy dearest) began making little farting noises. My sister and I pretended to take no notice and prayed together (27>1). After we were done, naturally we made du’a. In all that time, the burping and farting hadn’t stopped. I was too annoyed to find anything funny about it and strangely enough, my sister (who’s got the most ticklish funny bone) was quiet too. I was impressed by her control. As I reached the middle of du’a though, it happened. She burst out laughing. Loudly. I started hissing at her to shut up (ah, the irony. Kita plak yang malu) but to my own mortification I felt a giggle rise up in my throat. I swallowed it back quickly and began rubbing my sister’s back with one hand so that she’d control herself and shut up, while the other hand I held up to continue my du’a. I thought she’d calm herself but amidst all the burps and farts her shoulders started shaking more violently, and I was just about to stop the du’a when she does this: she starts disguising her laughter and turns it around to make it sound like she was crying instead. Her hands still pointed heavenwards, her face towards the kiblah, she actually pulled it off. Her muffled giggles came out sounding like stifled sobs, and to add a little dramatic effect, she cried out “Why? Why did you have to dieee?”
Well I lost it then. I laughed so hard I had to make my du’a later when I was more sober. We left the mosque and I couldn’t look at the woman in the eye, it was too much.
This is what I miss really. The misadventures. Because with her, something’s always bound to go wrong but the way she attempts to make it right is never boring. Also, she makes you feel like that it is perfectly alright to be goofy. (I swear, this is the first and last goofy photo I’m making public. Like ever.)
This is her effect on people in general. And when you’re bogged down with so many things on your mind, it’s this effect I miss.
Ok you know what?
It’s not the effect I miss.
(And she’s only been gone for a week, so what’s up with that?)
Enough said here.
But where you’d love for a sister, I’d love for an older sib. That way I get to learn from their mistakes. 
