Sunday, August 2, 2009
Musings at 2 a.m
2 a.m in the morning at the start of a brand new month and I can't get any sleep. After trying the time tested method of counting sheep, I'm still wide awake. Admitted, sheep are exceedingly boring creatures- all they do is eat grass and baa- occasionally inspiring the odd nursery rhyme or giving a name to the "wild 'un" of the family. Granted, all their grey-white fleece, their meek natures and their unwavering faith in the shepherd have inspired millions over the ages and embodied Christian ideals; but the fact remains that they cannot lull me to sleep.
My mind insists on wandering from sheep to the pasta i had for dinner tonight to my brother's astonishing capacity to watch an entire Hannah Montana marathon earlier this evening. Now this might qualify as normal behaviour, coming from a sixth grader, but my brother is in the eight. He proudly carries around the beginnings of a moustache on his upper lip and a small red pimple adorns his nose. His voice has started to break and the callers on the telephone no longer confuse his voice with mine. He has started nursing affections for girls his age who no longer seem "gross" or "dumb" to him but appear to be creatures whom he intends to awe with all the wit and sophistication posessed by a 13 year old. Thus my surprise at his sudden lapse in 'eight grade aloofnes this evening.
Now for the uninitiated, this is not a normal occurence- my brother is normally inclined to WWE and all that is John Cena or at least anything that involves men running around with bats and balls. However tonight, trapped in the freezing comfort of an aunt's bedroom my brother for some reason decided to indulge his -er- feminine side, munching happily on crackers and garlic spread, while I spent my time trying to understand William Blake and ignoring the annoyingly catchy chorus that kept cropping up at regular intervals ("You get the best of both worlds......Superstaaaaaaaaaaaaaaar!") which has since then taken bup residence in my head and refused to leave.
Fighting its way through the background music in my head rises the thought that my little brother is growing up. Apart from the obvious - extra hair, and great quantities of it- he's transformed into someone who often lapses into moody silences, who prefers solitude to spending time with his Didi and who no longer thinks that everything I do is cool. He no longer apes my sense of humour, my way of speaking or my choice of TV programs. He's becoming someone quite different from the little boy I used to know, with spiky hair and a ready smile. He doesn't share all his secrets with me and uses certain words at his age with a nonchalance that leaves me speechless. My mother often tries to drive into us the fact that we are growing apart. A fact that my brother tries to ignore with his self- assured bratty smirk and that I cover up with my hectic schedule of college-friends-work. We both know she's right though, and I sometimes wonder if this is how it's supposed to happen. If after the intial closeness shared by us, we're supposed to grow apart.
These days we hardly see each other and our encounters at home don't include much conversation. The little interaction we do seem to have is generally limited to phrases like "Loser", "Don't snitch to Mum!", "Gimme the remote!", "Did YOU eat the last cookie?!"..
Not muich scope for heart to hearts, and even if there were, I doubt that we would have them. But sometimes, I can't help wishing that even as we continue to gorw and change, we'll stay connected. And then I come across evenings like today- where my brother abandons his coolness, I abandon the mobile phone and for a while, we bridge the gap, laughing at some blonde bimbette with a Southern twang, pretending like she can actually play the guitar.
It's 3 a.m in the morning and I should get some sleep. I shall ignore the lizard which is surreptitiously making its way over to my bed, put on my headphones and try to drown out the Hannah Montana theme song playing in my head with some Def Lepard. Hopefully I shall succeed. If not, I could always count sheep.