I don't say this for you to feel bad for me -- I have the world's greatest parents, and the universe's best sister (you only have to read one of the seventy blogposts dedicated to her to agree with me). I was never alone.
But yes, when Thanksgiving rolled around, and my white friends were having family gatherings with 30 relatives, or when my neighbor blocked out three days a year to take giant family pictures like the Kardashians do for their holiday cards, it struck me that my world was strangely...nuclear. My mother singlehandedly doubled as her mother's advice, her father's jokes, her sister's lectures, trying to make our four-people-family feel larger...fuller...more.
To be honest, she didn't have to do that. Because I have enough extended family:
When I was locked out of my house because I forgot my keys, my neighbors housed me for three hours in their guest bedroom, bringing out dish after dish for me to eat because "kids can't go hungry after long days at school". Their youngest son drives me around the city to this day, and their oldest is the reason my sister got into college (and if I do, he's the reason for that, too). Aunts, Uncles, Cousins.
When my mother was working on homecoming night, and I was panicked because I couldn't find any of the makeup or jewelry I wanted, I hauled everything I owned over to my friend's house, and her mother straightened my hair while my two best friends fussed over my makeup. Every girl I saw that night ran towards me screaming, with open arms, gushing over my dress and shoes and hair and face and smile and ohmygosh we need to get a picture before you leave remind me! Sisters.
This guy I've known for ten years -- that my parents lovingly call "Second Brother" in Tamil -- offered to bring me Chipotle at 9pm, and though he insisted I was "impossible to be nice to", I realized then that I had family in every pocket of my world.
It's funny how much we are mosaics of everyone we know, isn't it?
Comments
Post a Comment