It’s been days, weeks, months, and years since I spoke to my brother. I don’t remember the last time we spoke to each other in an ordinary conversation. It’s sad, really, in the perspective of others. We have such a distant relationship. The most interesting topic we discuss is my homework. Even then, it’s been weeks since the last time we spoke to each other. Of course, I do have the pathetic excuse of him being off at college.
A year ago, I foolishly convinced myself that it was just the way our relationship was. We didn’t have to talk to each other in order to understand each other. We spoke when necessary because we could understand silently. However, that was merely a ruse my pathetic mind fabricated when grasping at straws. Our relationship was worse than that of fighting couples. At least the couples fought. My mother’s always recited to me, the worst case scenario in a relationship is when they don’t talk. Fighting couples are more likely to stay with each other. When couples ignore each other, they are many times more likely to divorce. She’s confessed to me that she’s terrified my brother and I will stop speaking completely once she and my father are gone.
Even then, I still helplessly attempt to persuade my mother to stop worrying. But now I know it was all because I didn’t want to be continuously reminded of my cowardice. My brother’s the silent type. He was never one to talk much. On the other hand, I was the loud, rambunctious child in the family. I should have been the one to approach him and chatter endlessly to my dear older brother. That time has long passed, and it’s too late now. I don’t know what to do. I never do.
I should listen to my mother, who’s consistently advised me to initiate the conversation with even the most pointless things. But I’m scared. I don’t want to give the impression of an immature child. I never do. I want to be the confident young woman that I’m not, although many others believe I am. I’m just an insecure, good-for-nothing.
No, I’m not wallowing in self-pity and fishing for encouraging remarks. I’m venting. These are the thoughts that I can never verbalize in fear of judgment. Even my own parents are people I can’t trust with this. My father would lecture me, and my mother would easily dismiss my anxiety and encourage me to repair what’s left of my relationship with my brother.
For me, I’m trying every day to muster enough courage to go and salvage this relationship. But I never seem to be able to. For that, I beat myself up every day in anger over the fact that I’m unable to overcome my fears.
It’s because I’ve suffered days of this, that I’ve become immune. I’ve become passive and indifferent. I don’t think too much about it anymore unless it’s brought up. Even then, I don’t feel much about it. I’ve mostly given up.
I’m scared one day I’ll completely give up and never be able to speak to my brother properly. I’m scare I’ll never be able to embrace my brother like a younger sister should, no matter how annoying it might be. I’m scared when my parents pass on, he and I will sever our connections out of habit in not speaking to each other.
I’m terrified that my mother’s fears will come true.
The possibility of such a future fills me with some courage to talk to my brother. But it’s never enough. Worries plague my thoughts and invade my mind, dashing any hopes. It’s become such an ordinary, everyday occurrence that I’m not affected by it much anymore.
Apathy is terrifying.
I fear each day that one day that I won’t care anymore about repairing my relationship with my brother, as redundant as it is. I fear that day is today every day.