Growing Up
My baby brother sent a message on my way here — I said not to refer to him as a baby anymore. He is all grown up; got a woman of his own. I’m seated in the African church where everything feels familiar. Teenagers are on their phones like we used to be in those years. The apps are different now, no longer furiously refreshing Facebook via Opera Mini, now they scroll through short videos on Snapchat and TikTok, two apps I am yet to sign up to.
I gradually begin to realise how “older” I have become. I drove here with my partner because she wanted to and while getting ready, I understood how my father went to church all those years. Even though we could tell his heart wasn’t really into it — his partner wanted to.
The pastor drones on, something “spiritual”. I’m sure the older folks can fully relate. The entire time I’m thinking I should be reading my email, understanding the latest trends or reading about the newest advances in Cloud computing.
I am not immune to recognizing the futility, of how my laidbackness has become my religion. Me worshipping it with the same intensity as devouts, and my obsession with figuring life also trending towards futility. I recognise how we are all in different phases, the teenager next to me is to become me, and I the parent nodding furiously to the preaching.
Ultimately, I miss my brothers and sister. I dream of those nights when we didn’t know whose room we would spend the night in, falling asleep to binging a show. Laughing about my sister’s obsession with Crime Dramas, my brother’s with being cool and my baby brother’s tough exterior. Now we are flung across 3 continents and I just want to be a teenager again.
