Prima volta?
"The night's still young..." my friends will say, when we're planning something crazy. Or wish we were. "But we're just getting older." It's a cheesy little back-and-forth, but it's depressing: sometimes I feel like everyone else is moving forward with life (in work, in relationships, in general maturity) and I'm not. Being in New York was perfect for shaking the feeling: here I am, meeting new people, working two jobs, getting articles published in a real magazine and buying my own groceries!
But the feeling will come back when I get to college. So it was a bit of a thrill to open Glamour and read "12 major firsts in every woman's life." Most were just silly (even though I like Glamour and don't feel guilty about reading it, sometimes the articles are a little silly).
Number 2: The first time you get on a place because someone far away needs you.
This past weekend my sister had a scary personal crisis. I was attending a conference for Abroad View when I got her message. She was crying, pleading, begging for me to come see her. I was terrified at what might have happened, I called her back right away. She seemed calm enough, but as she told me what was happening, she started crying again. I stood in the hallway for thirty minutes, the conference participants giving me strange glances every now and then, as I tried to reassure her without crying my eyes out myself. "Anika, I'm too embarrassed to tell Mom and Dad," she said. "Will you?" And I realized that for the first time, my parents were out of the country, and she had no one but me. And I also realized that she had called me before anyone else. My sister relies on me. And so I left the conference early and booked her a flight that night itself. I called the dean of her college and explained the situation, I got a hold of our parents and told them what was going on. And when she got here I enjoyed her company, and we talked about how the world is terrible, and we also had an incongruously good time.
I'm not suggesting that anyone's life was changed. But talking to her on the phone that first day, I felt more than pain, fury or frustration. I was grateful. My sister and I haven't had a more painful past than anyone else, but we've always felt like we had no one to share our worries with but each other. And despite this "us against the world" mentality, and despite the fact that we're closer than a lot of siblings ever are, I'm ashamed because there have been times in the past when I've let her down. When she needed me desperately, and I didn't realize how deep the need went, how isolated and unhealthy she was.
I always loved being away from home. I started going to sleepaway camp when I was 10. But she didn't. And the first time she came with me she had a panic attack - there's no other word for it - and stopped breathing. We were in the middle of a campwide lecture, and she started choking, and someone brought her a straw, and she was breathing through the straw, and then one of the counselors escorted her out. And the other kids around me kept staring, and then one said to me, "Go, go, she's not well" and after a few seconds I went. But I'm ashamed, in retrospect, that someone had to tell me to go. That I wasn't sitting next to her, aware how anxious and scared she was, ready to holler for someone else at the first sign of trouble.
Again, when we were at a different sleepaway camp. We were in different tents, and every morning she came to my tent and we walked down to the showers together. But during the day I had my own age group, my own activities (this was my second time at this camp, I knew people) and the few times she came up to me I brushed her off because I was too occupied with myself to bother. And later I found out she was desperately sick the entire time. She didn't eat for two weeks, when we got home she had lost twenty pounds. And only once, afterwards, she mentioned, "Those ten minutes in the morning when we walked down to the showers was the only time I was happy at camp." And I felt ashamed, not because I didn't know, but because I was too busy to bother to find out.
There are more instances. In high school, I tested into the IB program at Richard Montgomery. And of course, I went. And two years later, when it came time for her to test, my mom said, "She's always felt insecure about not being as smart as you. Why don't you help her with the test, just help her study. She won't even go - but think how great she'll feel if she gets in." And I refused. I said it was because I had sworn at the test itself never to reveal what the testing process was like. But the real reason was jealousy and small-mindedness. And I am so ashamed. It turned out for the best - inspired by guilt, I found out about this sensational art program at a nearby high school, and pretty much forced her to go. And now she's on an art scholarship at an amazing college.
And yet, when my sister called me, at first I was just terrified and sad for her. I wanted her near me. I wanter to reassure her, to reassure myself that she was fine. But afterwards, after our weekend was over and she had left, she called and left me a message. "I had a wonderful time, thank you," she said. And although she has never said anything about all those earlier betrayals of mine, what we both realized was that this time, I stood by her. I had the chance and I didn't mess up. This is my one biggest regret (besides never playing any competitive team sports in school - ha!) and it was my most long-standing doubt about myself. What kind of person abandons her sister? I used to think.
And the final thing: I don't know what moved me so much when she called. Yes, I love her very much. When I heard her voice, even over the phone, I realized that she would be fine no matter what. But she wanted to be near someone who cared about her - wanted it enough that it was almost a need. She was always like that, but until recently I never saw it. In the past year at school, I've learned to doubt myself in ways I never thought possible. I've looked at my grades and wondered if maybe I'm not actually that bright. I've looked at my social life and thought, maybe I'm not that interesting, not that personable. I've looked at my professional portfolio and worried I'm not ambitious enough. I've watched myself in sorority skits and dances and realized I'm not graceful. I've been ignored by plenty of boys, and realized I'm not that attractive (although I guess I never thought that). I've worried about how much time I've wasted, the opportunities I haven't taken, the things I haven't done. And everywhere I looked I saw people who were more successful in all these areas. I thought, I'm standing in the same place I was two years ago. So trapped, so limited.
But while I am less confident and less secure than ever before, I'm still capable of things I wasn't in the past. Strangely enough, by leaving my sister for two years I've actually taken on her life. Learned what it's like to be the one who's overlooked, who comes second or third in people's minds, who doesn't always know she's worthy of being loved. And although the process of becoming insecure was so difficult for me, maybe I should stop regretting it. It has made me realize that life is harder than I thought, I will work more than I thought, I will receive less recognition than I expected - and that I am a sadder but better person for it.
But the feeling will come back when I get to college. So it was a bit of a thrill to open Glamour and read "12 major firsts in every woman's life." Most were just silly (even though I like Glamour and don't feel guilty about reading it, sometimes the articles are a little silly).
Number 2: The first time you get on a place because someone far away needs you.
This past weekend my sister had a scary personal crisis. I was attending a conference for Abroad View when I got her message. She was crying, pleading, begging for me to come see her. I was terrified at what might have happened, I called her back right away. She seemed calm enough, but as she told me what was happening, she started crying again. I stood in the hallway for thirty minutes, the conference participants giving me strange glances every now and then, as I tried to reassure her without crying my eyes out myself. "Anika, I'm too embarrassed to tell Mom and Dad," she said. "Will you?" And I realized that for the first time, my parents were out of the country, and she had no one but me. And I also realized that she had called me before anyone else. My sister relies on me. And so I left the conference early and booked her a flight that night itself. I called the dean of her college and explained the situation, I got a hold of our parents and told them what was going on. And when she got here I enjoyed her company, and we talked about how the world is terrible, and we also had an incongruously good time.
I'm not suggesting that anyone's life was changed. But talking to her on the phone that first day, I felt more than pain, fury or frustration. I was grateful. My sister and I haven't had a more painful past than anyone else, but we've always felt like we had no one to share our worries with but each other. And despite this "us against the world" mentality, and despite the fact that we're closer than a lot of siblings ever are, I'm ashamed because there have been times in the past when I've let her down. When she needed me desperately, and I didn't realize how deep the need went, how isolated and unhealthy she was.
I always loved being away from home. I started going to sleepaway camp when I was 10. But she didn't. And the first time she came with me she had a panic attack - there's no other word for it - and stopped breathing. We were in the middle of a campwide lecture, and she started choking, and someone brought her a straw, and she was breathing through the straw, and then one of the counselors escorted her out. And the other kids around me kept staring, and then one said to me, "Go, go, she's not well" and after a few seconds I went. But I'm ashamed, in retrospect, that someone had to tell me to go. That I wasn't sitting next to her, aware how anxious and scared she was, ready to holler for someone else at the first sign of trouble.
Again, when we were at a different sleepaway camp. We were in different tents, and every morning she came to my tent and we walked down to the showers together. But during the day I had my own age group, my own activities (this was my second time at this camp, I knew people) and the few times she came up to me I brushed her off because I was too occupied with myself to bother. And later I found out she was desperately sick the entire time. She didn't eat for two weeks, when we got home she had lost twenty pounds. And only once, afterwards, she mentioned, "Those ten minutes in the morning when we walked down to the showers was the only time I was happy at camp." And I felt ashamed, not because I didn't know, but because I was too busy to bother to find out.
There are more instances. In high school, I tested into the IB program at Richard Montgomery. And of course, I went. And two years later, when it came time for her to test, my mom said, "She's always felt insecure about not being as smart as you. Why don't you help her with the test, just help her study. She won't even go - but think how great she'll feel if she gets in." And I refused. I said it was because I had sworn at the test itself never to reveal what the testing process was like. But the real reason was jealousy and small-mindedness. And I am so ashamed. It turned out for the best - inspired by guilt, I found out about this sensational art program at a nearby high school, and pretty much forced her to go. And now she's on an art scholarship at an amazing college.
And yet, when my sister called me, at first I was just terrified and sad for her. I wanted her near me. I wanter to reassure her, to reassure myself that she was fine. But afterwards, after our weekend was over and she had left, she called and left me a message. "I had a wonderful time, thank you," she said. And although she has never said anything about all those earlier betrayals of mine, what we both realized was that this time, I stood by her. I had the chance and I didn't mess up. This is my one biggest regret (besides never playing any competitive team sports in school - ha!) and it was my most long-standing doubt about myself. What kind of person abandons her sister? I used to think.
And the final thing: I don't know what moved me so much when she called. Yes, I love her very much. When I heard her voice, even over the phone, I realized that she would be fine no matter what. But she wanted to be near someone who cared about her - wanted it enough that it was almost a need. She was always like that, but until recently I never saw it. In the past year at school, I've learned to doubt myself in ways I never thought possible. I've looked at my grades and wondered if maybe I'm not actually that bright. I've looked at my social life and thought, maybe I'm not that interesting, not that personable. I've looked at my professional portfolio and worried I'm not ambitious enough. I've watched myself in sorority skits and dances and realized I'm not graceful. I've been ignored by plenty of boys, and realized I'm not that attractive (although I guess I never thought that). I've worried about how much time I've wasted, the opportunities I haven't taken, the things I haven't done. And everywhere I looked I saw people who were more successful in all these areas. I thought, I'm standing in the same place I was two years ago. So trapped, so limited.
But while I am less confident and less secure than ever before, I'm still capable of things I wasn't in the past. Strangely enough, by leaving my sister for two years I've actually taken on her life. Learned what it's like to be the one who's overlooked, who comes second or third in people's minds, who doesn't always know she's worthy of being loved. And although the process of becoming insecure was so difficult for me, maybe I should stop regretting it. It has made me realize that life is harder than I thought, I will work more than I thought, I will receive less recognition than I expected - and that I am a sadder but better person for it.
posted by Anika at 9:27 AM
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