Yesterday my parents spent the day away clearing up your home, cleaning it and preparing it for my brother to move in. It’s a frightful thought, knowing this dreaded day is nigh. There are many things troubling me over this move, aside from the obvious nervousness in being the older sister still living at home, I also worry about what is to become of the smaller things of yours that adorn your home. Like your furniture. Will he reuse it? Or your crockery and vast collection of glassware. Will they all be made of use? And I suppose I wonder if you’ll ever return back here to watch over him and the home you once loved dearly.
I can’t help but feel responsible for motions set, at times feeling like it’s a big karmic slap in repentance for my transgressions. Pushing forward for change, improving and desperately wanting to make you proud yet only to find the entire process less endearing. Things I had planned for, only half completed, all for the sake of saving a buck or two and leaving an undesirable result. Then of course all of this hard work, sweat and tears; many, many tears at that and it is not I who’ll be enjoying the fruits of this arduous labor.
Is it karma?
I make no effort in approaching your home anymore but yesterday, while taking my little puppy for a walk, strangely enough I found my feet charging away at the footpath, directly towards your home. Despite my insides turning to muck and my intuition flailing it’s tiny arms in warning I proceeded. Even Mother Nature herself knew what a bad idea this was and tried waning me away with a barrage of attacking flies. But I kept pushing forward, my feet on a mission and with an obvious mind of it’s own.
As I drew near I thought perhaps I could use this opportunity to finally say goodbye and part ways for good. However as soon as I set foot inside that dank room I knew it would not be the case. Despite a small part of me feeling hopeful for a miracle, every other cell in my body knew there was nothing left to say goodbye to.
You have really gone.
But still I stayed, lending a helping hand until surprisingly my brother turned up with my father. And with that questioning look in his eye geared at me that screams, “why the fuck are you here again,” had me scrambling to my knees and bidding adieu to his royal highness. Gathering my things I overheard an argument between mum and he over his impatience on the slowing process of it all. When he told her he had no use for the left over glassware and dishes I felt my heart hurt. Simple everyday things that he seemed to disregard as nothing more cut really deep. Those ‘worthless’ ceramic things were pieces you treasured and collected. Proudly displayed, as if the Target brand cup and saucer where rarities from the Ming Dynasty.
I left deflated, saddened and angry.
Deflated over the battle lost. Saddened by the house I would never know again, a kitchen I’d never be able to enjoy and a roof I’d ever get to rest peacefully under. And anger over his apparent disdain for what lay before him.
And I understand the impatience, of course I desperately want out of this place too so I sympathize, yet at the same time what is stopping you? Were it I! Well I would have moved in long, long ago, regardless of state of kitchen or not. I’d take residence anyway. He could also go in and clear the way himself, get it ready as opposed to waiting for someone else to do it.
It’s one thing I am grateful for however; mum stalling. She obviously does not want her golden child to leave home just yet, probably so that she isn’t left with just me but for whatever reason I am grateful. It buys time. Time for fending off that impending doom or even time for a possible miracle.
One can only hope,