justnick's Diaryland Diary ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Forgive me the flowery language. Occasionally I feel the need... Hanging out with my sister's friends, on some level, will always be a strange experience for me. No matter how close in temperament we become, no matter how similar our sense of humour, no matter how far we move beyond the aged, rusty grudges of familial bonds, no matter how much we become friends, there will always be the conceptual chasm of the big sister lurking condescendingly in some dank, marshy corner of my mind. Holy run-on, Batman. Still, though, it's true. Some small part of me will always be the little brother, and that same bit will never be able to regard her as a person, but simply as the big sister, an entity of undefinable powers. That's why I can never relax when I'm out with her and her friends. Why I'm always so on edge. That odd combination of shy and inappropriateness that comes with trying way too hard to impress people. Allow me a hypothetical. Say my sister and I were out with a group of friends. The friends I had brought were all twenty six or twenty seven, while her cadre were all twenty three. My friends are all older, as I am indeed older than the friends she brought, yet I can guarantee that I would feel as if I was being allowed a privileged reprieve from the kid's table. Like her friends were older than me and mine in some untenable way. A few of the females around tonight were very interesting to me. Yet there was no possible way for me to engage them in conversation of any kind of way that would legitimately demonstrate my more admirable qualities. Because in that kind of a social setting, when you're around someone who you think of as somehow outranking you, someone who brings to mind who you were, rather than who you have become, it is impossible to be anything other than a caricature of yourself. When my sister is around, I am not Nick, the witty Journalism major with the awesome hat who treats women kindly, I am Nick, the shy skinny kid who hurt people's feelings because he was heartless with his sarcasm. Nick, the liar. Nick, the dropout. Nick, who can not hold on to a woman without smothering her to save his life. Nick, who does not vocalize his inner monologue, therefore is not interesting. Nick, who you would have forgotten was sitting there if he wasn't s'dang tall. You get the idea. I love my sister more than anything. And some of her friends are beautiful, interesting women. But no mater what their opinion may be, in my own head I am not Nick, the man; I am Nick, the little brother. 3:40 a.m. - 2008-08-24 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
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