Last Friday, I decided it was time for a change and went to Target and bought my own tweezers. Then, for the first time in my almost-25 years of life, I plucked my eyebrows. I always wanted to have nice eyebrows, but in all honesty, mine are pretty thin and you can't do much with them. But I did always have some stray random ones that made them into a kinda-funny shape. I never wanted to pluck them because it hurt. But I'm maid of honor in my sister's wedding, so what better time than now?
My sister is the only one I've ever talked to about eyebrows. The last time we were in Malaysia, we noticed that dad's mom had the same eyebrows as I did. We joked that they were nearly nonexistent because they were thinly spread out, just like mine. I've remarked several times that sis's eyebrows are nice, but that I couldn't stand the pain of plucking them. And she's always laughed a bit that hers were better than mine.
Sis (as all the siblings call her) and I aren't particularly close, but as her days as a single women slowly dwindle down, I'm more aware of how much we do share. I don't talk about her all too much: she keeps to herself often, and my brothers do enough crazy things to fill my stories. Still, there's always been a special place for her. She did end up blazing the trail for us in many ways, and, when we were young, it always seemed she could do anything she wanted, it seemed: play flute (two years before she started, I wanted to be a flautist but never saved enough money for it...), skateboard, pick up drums, shoot hoops, join a volleyball team, tour with the school a cappella group (why did I never watch her shows?), and beat us all at Nintendo even though she never practiced.
As I started thinking through the speech I get to make at her wedding, I remember that, in the middle of the arguments, different paths, distances, and sporadic texts, there's more we share than I realize. That in some ways, I was a typical younger sister. There has always been something from her closet I envied and couldn't wait to be passed down to me: the yellow thermal hoodie, the plaid button shirts, the light blue skort, her MVA sweater (though in hindsight, they were probably less cool by the time they got to me). I still raid her closet for the too-girly tops she doesn't like, though I like to think it's made up for by the 20 times she's worn my purple dress. When I was taking piano lessons, there was always something special when we got to a song that I knew my sister had played and practiced: it felt like hitting another level and getting the chance to accomplish what she had done. Rondo alla turca, Moonlight Sonata (though I never finished that one), and a couple church solo's. When she got to go through Colonial Day in fifth grade, I imagined myself wearing her same red flannel dress in four more years, though in the end, Anthony and I missed it because we left school year to go to Malaysia that year. The Keepsake Box I have now of all random memorabilia, firsts, notes, and souvenirs got started because of an assignment she had to do in sixth grade.
She and I share a love for the Olympics, including screaming at the TV during the 2008 4x100 men's freestyle with Jason Lezak's amazing leg. We'd watch anything those summers and winters when we were both home, while the rest of the family only came out for gymnastics, ice skating, or the other big events. I'd dream up ideas on how to get into the Olympics and automatically assume she'd be my partner: we'd do some amazing humanitarian work and be invited to the Opening ceremonies, or maybe find a random sport that can't exactly be too hard...like the luge or bobsled, right? And when I coxed a varsity crew team, I joked with her: hey, maybe that'll be my in. They need small people for those teams.
I haven't been home for an Olympic season since 2008. Her bachelorette earlier this month was the most extended time I've had with her for years. But still, I feel a bit of sadness with the upcoming marriage. There's a nostalgia for the love of all my siblings together, just the four of us. Aaron's kind, he's nice, but he doesn't have the 24 years (okay, 18 for Alan) of life that we have. I will miss it. I will miss that anything can be hilarious when it's me and the siblings...that no one is safe from our mimicking and mocking, or from our songs and dance. Our bursts of laughter and our stories from our young days. I'm fiercely protective of our family time, notorious for persuading my family members out of other commitments or hangouts so we can have just a few hours when all six of us are together. All six: that's all I really want from any weekend home, for any celebration or holiday. All six of us. And I don't quite know how to welcome in a seventh....yet.
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