Growing older is when you can reach
that cupboard in the kitchen without the aid of a chair
and it’s when they tell you, you can’t wear
your favourite dress because it’s too small, and
as far as you know you didn’t see it grow shorter.
when your dolls just stare at you from a corner of the
room and you feel that they don’t talk to you
anymore and the magic they once held you in just slips
away. It’s when boys don’t seem “icky”
and you grow to understand that they too are just like
you in some ways, that they are human and not martian.
For each individual the experience
of growing older is made up of at least one such delightful
memory. But what makes these times memorable is having
someone to share them with and for me it’s my
I look back and there is my mother
telling us to eat our greens and take our vitamins that
will help us grow stronger, but somehow you realize
that the human soul needs nutrition of its own if it
is to grow as well. My brother and I however, found
ours in long late-night conversations. They were responsible
for helping us grow and become what we are today. I
marvel at how those conversations have journeyed a long
way from childish pranks to his first love and my first
Even unto this day, when all the lights
in the household have gone out, save one, my brother
and I, just as we’d done many times before, sit
and talk but only this time, we talk about how different
his life will be and how I’ll miss our conversations,
as I help him put away his things which he’ll
carry to college.
When I look back now I realise neither
time nor years could ever change what he and I had found
in our late nights, a bond that was formed between his
life and mine.
It’s amazing to look at him
and see only the shadow of a seven-year-old who used
to pull my hair and break my dolls, now peeping through
the eyes of a manly figure before me, and who’s
currently ready to leave home.
Through our late-night chats he and
I had witnessed the miracle of life passing from one
stage into the next.
had watched him grow and had grown with him, he watched
me change from a girl to a woman and he from an annoying
little boy to a caring adult, over-protective of his
baby sis, who opens doors and waits up for her when
she gets late. Whose shoulder not only saw the happy
times but also felt the tears.
Regardless of the many disagreements
and arguments, the thousands of times I’ve said
“I’ll kill him,” the millions of times
I promised myself, “I’ll never talk to him
again”, it matters little. We’d gone through
all that and much more.
I write this as a sister, a sister
who has gone through all those conversations and knows
from experience that even though she hates to admit
it, her life wouldn’t have meant as much, that
she wouldn’t have laughed as hard, learnt what
she did, or smiled through the hurt, if they hadn’t
been a part of it.
There are some things in this life
that shouldn’t be left to a mere description of
words, but lived and felt as only they can be experienced.
So as a sister if I could tell the siblings of the world
just one thing, it would be, if you haven’t already
– leave your light on and let it grow with a few
words. For who knows how much you’ll grow, how
much more you’ll want to share, or how many miracles
you’ll be a part of.
Maybe in a few years time, who is
to say you’ll sit at night when all the lights
have gone out save one, and say “do you remember”
only to touch the memories with the fingertips of your
mind, but more than that to relive those long conversations.