Youngest Sibling’s Guide on How To Become A Guest in Your Own Home

Before I jump into this midnight-personal-rant-ramble-uhh idk what to write but whatever kind of post this is, I should say that I’ll be totally cooked if my siblings ever find this online. So, Bang, Kak, if you ever see this (in which I hope you won’t), I love you and there is no place of hate and rage I will ever leave for you — the only people I would run through an airport for — in my heart. That being said, I advise you not to proceed any further, but if you wish to do so then go on… just know that I don’t mean to hurt you :( (I think this will hurt you)

Now, to give you a brief context (not so, I think. I tend to get really wordy when it comes to writing down my feelings, so just bear with it), I’m gonna talk about #KaburAjaDulu. There was a heated discourse on Twitter regarding that. Some say that it reeks of privilege since not everyone — including me — could afford to do so. “How dare you to share your Houdini-plan out of this hellhole when some wouldn’t even dare to dream it!”. Ironically, some others think that these kinds of tweets are only a sign of their wishful thinking or even a coping mechanism of the said people — again, including me — who don’t even dare to dream about it. This is just a brief overview of what was going on but you can take a look at what’s going on by yourself, this illustration waters down the whole discourse but ANYWAY that is not the point of my ramble.

The thing is, I’m not going to talk about our country’s current state. We all know that it’s fucked up and I’d argue that, at this point, it’s beyond saving unless we commit a massive arson, once and for all. That hashtag had pretty much inflicted an interesting question within me; I don’t really want to get out of this country at all, so what makes me do it? Why do I feel like it’s more doable for me to get out of this country through silly force majeure (like death probably) than that?

With the help of my inner monologue and a somewhat short break off of a study session for a quiz worth 20% of this semester’s GPA, I hypothesized that:

1. Canada has always been my dream country. Don’t boo me, but I’d basically live my parisian and american dream at the same time (sort of). I hypothesized that I consciously realize that it’s waaay too good to be true, that is why this dream exists in the first place. Think about all the parasocial relationships you build with your favorite fictional character or K-pop artists, that’s basically the same thing
2. I am the youngest daughter, and that is also the reason why
3. I have my (older) siblings

You see, most people would say that I’m just a big “daddy’s daughter” and have separation anxiety when it comes to my parents. I never correct them and just play into their narrative that I might be am (because I think there’s some truth beneath it). Here’s the catch: I think those who would say that will never understand how it feels to be in the youngest sibling’s shoes just like how I, as the youngest sibling, won’t understand the struggles of my other siblings. This is my medium though so I get to say whatever I want. In this narrative, I’d walk you through why I think I’m trapped in this penitentiary of love (not really I’m just dramatic like that)

Imagine this: both of your parents had you when they were about to retire. You grew up alone, mostly. No one would be there when you were scared of things, your parents were busy and your siblings had their own lives (good for them honestly). You were way too young to be involved in their play, stories, lives. Parents? Don’t mind them, they need to make money. Growing up, you realize that you only exist in their microsystem when in fact, you’re miles miles mileeeees away from them. You are no better than a stranger. You are no better than a familiar face in their life.

My sister has moved out for a while now, so does my brother. I am happy for the milestones they have reached in their lives; some (most) of it in which I will never know. I’m not petty, I never tell them how my day went, what kind of wins I’m having this week (month/year). Ironically, my therapist and all of my friends know me better than them and my parents, but at least it’s reciprocal since I don’t know theirs either.

So yeah… they have moved out. I pretty much occupy the void they left in this house. No one would yell at me when I sleep in their room, or wear their fancy shirt, or read their book collection. Nobody would be mad when I do some mischievous things, and that is exactly the reason why I no longer do that. Doing things out of the thrill is no longer fun. I can now sympathize with all the only children out there, minus the grief that I’m going through over the laughs of our younger selves stored in between these concrete walls.

Days are much less interesting now. I’m always thankful for the food my parents provided for us in the kitchen, but it tastes less festive without them. It applies to birthdays, celebrations, holidays, and any other big days. Though we don’t celebrate that kind of thing that much, it feels even less special than it already is. The duvet in my room yearns to cover us in the same bed, once again. I think I hate to say it, but I’m grieving for the loss. For everything. (I would say empty nest syndrome but I don’t think it’s applicable since I didn’t make the nest and the nest is not empty to me, I still have my campus friends).

And one day it hit me like a truck. The realization that my parents had shared more tears, laughs, pains, and memories with my siblings. As much as how they say they “want us to be independent, write our own story”, I think that they must have felt the empty nest syndrome harder than I do, especially during their retirement days. And then suddenly I feel like I have to be there, around them. I might not be as reliable as my youngest siblings, but they are no longer around. I need to be around my parents so even if I end up being completely useless, I can at least take up the space I used to leave for my siblings. Funny since I am the last person that would love to take up the space, to be in the matrix, to exist, but for them, I think I could try to love it.

To tackle the narration that “Oh, classic youngest sibling, you’re just attached to your parents. Manja.” I might have to tell you one episode from when I was merantau. I think the first few days I’m living away from my parents I couldn’t hold myself from crying since I couldn’t help but to think that my dad won’t take good care of himself. He is so selfless that the only time he’d buy himself nice food is when I lose my appetite and I won’t eat at all. I cried during class, heck I even cried during orientation days. I had no problem being “independent”, though not alone since the guilt was just there in the corner of my room, waiting like a loyal dog to its owner. I am capable of doing things alone, I just can’t do it without thinking that something bad would happen to them. Well, this might be a sign of separation anxiety, but anyway… I survived that season and the reason why I went back to Jakarta wasn’t because I miss my parents so much, so that definitely tells something. And again I’m rambling too much over a point that is completely pointless. Anyways.

So, back to the main topic on why I think I don’t want to escape this anguish fire that much. Onto the third hypothesis, I have my (older) siblings. This might be dumb, but I think it’s more realistic for both of my siblings to do it instead of me. They have their careers set in stone and it would make more sense for them to move out for it. On the other hand, it’s also more doable for them to find a master’s degree scholarship overseas. They have the resources, connections, knowledge, and experience to do so. There must be someone left here to occupy these spaces, right? Right.

To wrap it up (and so that I could still stay faithful to the theme I set up with the title), I think I’d give you a little answer on how to be (or not to be) a stranger in your own home. At what point would you consider something a stranger (or unfamiliar)? The answer might vary, but I would say that the moment you are treated as a guest by your surroundings, well… It’s also the moment when you’ve changed your status into a guest.

Of course, living away doesn’t revoke the filial bond between the family, and I’m not saying this with the intention to guilt trip my siblings since they’ve moved out. I just can’t help but to wonder, at what point do they miss the smell of this home? Do they realize that they no longer know what kind of hurtful things our parents say to each other? Do they realize that the way our parents treat me when they’re away is different than when they’re staying overnight?

uHHH I think this is getting way too nerdy and I guess I have said the things that weighs down my chest already. So yeah. No proper sentences/paragraphs/opening/closing/chapter because I am bad at writing and I just need a form of catharsis so……..