[16] ᕦ(ಠ_ಠ)ᕤ The Lifelong Wait of Sisterhood
The idea of being a sibling isn't the same as being a sibling. When I became an Akka I didn't know the value nor the cost of this position.
My parents talked about my sibling for such a long time that I couldn't tell where their desire for this person began, and mine ended. I've always known I'd be a good big sister, but I didn't know what it would cost me. Or if my sibling would think I was actually a good big sister. That one matters more I think.
The Family Crutch
I didn't feel like a real person until I turned 25. Thinking back to my university years, I was intellectually malleable yet emotionally rigid. I could accept ways of being that contrasted my own and still maintain that I had to be back home to help babysit because who else would do it? My schedule actively revolved around Amma's needs, which in turn pivoted around my brother's needs. Studies were a legitimate reason to be away from home, but friends were not; so carving out time to be a young woman and explore the world my friends lived in was up to me — wherever I could find it (and fit it into the family schedule). The guilt of having fun while they were alone at home was sometimes so powerful, opting out was the norm. And the easier choice to make.
Emotionally and logistically, and like many others before me, I stepped up and stepped into the role of Akka, and my inexperienced shoulders sagged under the weight of unspoken pleas and poor communication. Most eldest sisters have transformed from child to co-parent in a matter of months, and I was no different. At one point I thought it completely normal to find a replacement Akka for Amma while I was away on a three-day hike with friends.
I remember how often I deprived myself of sleep and clung to my studies in the early hours of the morning, just so I could do something for myself and not be perceived as wanting anything. I diminished my needs for the benefit of others — benefits that were as immediate for my family as they were damaging to me.
5AM wake-ups for me meant less stress on Amma, gentler wake-ups for my little brother, singing songs while dressing for school, an attentive adult to listen to his stories as he managed breakfast as quickly as a four-year-old can, an emptied dishwasher, lunch packed for me and Amma, and just enough time for me to walk him to his classroom with a smile, a hug, a kiss, and a promise of seeing him very soon. He felt brighter and braver for this attention, I think. I hope.
And it was only after that daily parting and promise that I could think about assignment submissions and getting to sit next to my crush in class.
I broke down every night from the stress and frustration of co-parenting and the soul-crushing heartbreak of the situation Amma found herself in. For the longest time I was her only support. And for some time already, I was my only support.
I Grew Up
Having lived apart from my family for some years, and now living a more socially independent life (i.e. married and, therefore, acceptably separate), I look back at those three years without horror. But also without fondness.
It was a time when I learnt lived the effort of managing my time while having a family, recognising the effort it takes to raise a child in a supportive and generous environment, and the need for the love and support of a reliable life partner. It also taught me the art of finding the small moments of joy where one could — a hand-drawn picture from school, practising lines for a play, sticking little fingers into the fish pond and baiting the koi, jumping in puddles while it rained. And seeing the biggest smile from the littlest boy every time.
I don't know everything about what it means to be a big sister, but a small human trusted me to hold his hand then, and I know I will do the same for him still.