Oppa and Me
Sep. 10th, 2013 06:15 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
marchan89“Oppa!”
I called my 23-year-old brother, Furqan lovingly as we met for a morning break at school. He sheepishly grinned and I punched his arms gently. He has been my punching bag for as long as I can remember. Each time he never fights back, only hollering yelps of pain and annoyance.
Furqan pointed to a long bench for us to sit down. So we snuggled like little brats waiting for their mother, talking softly.
“So, I thought someone wanted to read me her poetry” I smiled.
I took out my phone and read out my poem posted online. I never shared any with him before. But I needed a listener. He stiffened, trying to hold back a chuckle. “That wasn’t even a masterpiece! I could do better than that!”
I gave a whack on his shoulder. We both laughed. The most evil cold blooded critic whom I trusted most. Insults are his biggest compliments. His excellent remarks often preyed on my cooking. The worse the comments, that only meant my work has been improving.
Furqan has been like a shadow to me. Inseparable. We went to the same school and grew up together. We both know inside out the kind of shape the family has been. He has always been the cool big brother and I am the hyper active big sister. Both of us have been rebellious in our own ways. We both have been subjected to our parents’ early strict childhood care. We both realize and understand the troubles and conflicts our parents face with our younger siblings.
We are now officially full grown adults. That morning I shared with him glimpse of my future plan and my worries.
“Worst to worst you might be working here for another year”
I gulped hard, trying to swallow that bitter fact.
He grinned. “At least not for TWO years, kak.” He was right. The application process is tedious. It might take few months to get them done.
As we bid goodbye, Furqan’s eyes twinkled as he said, “Don’t think too much. Don’t be a sour old lady.”
I snorted.
Sometimes we don’t really tell each other much as both of us have our own lives but it’s great to have your own blood to trust. It’s great to have your own oppa, no matter how crazy he is.
I called my 23-year-old brother, Furqan lovingly as we met for a morning break at school. He sheepishly grinned and I punched his arms gently. He has been my punching bag for as long as I can remember. Each time he never fights back, only hollering yelps of pain and annoyance.
Furqan pointed to a long bench for us to sit down. So we snuggled like little brats waiting for their mother, talking softly.
“So, I thought someone wanted to read me her poetry” I smiled.
I took out my phone and read out my poem posted online. I never shared any with him before. But I needed a listener. He stiffened, trying to hold back a chuckle. “That wasn’t even a masterpiece! I could do better than that!”
I gave a whack on his shoulder. We both laughed. The most evil cold blooded critic whom I trusted most. Insults are his biggest compliments. His excellent remarks often preyed on my cooking. The worse the comments, that only meant my work has been improving.
Furqan has been like a shadow to me. Inseparable. We went to the same school and grew up together. We both know inside out the kind of shape the family has been. He has always been the cool big brother and I am the hyper active big sister. Both of us have been rebellious in our own ways. We both have been subjected to our parents’ early strict childhood care. We both realize and understand the troubles and conflicts our parents face with our younger siblings.
We are now officially full grown adults. That morning I shared with him glimpse of my future plan and my worries.
“Worst to worst you might be working here for another year”
I gulped hard, trying to swallow that bitter fact.
He grinned. “At least not for TWO years, kak.” He was right. The application process is tedious. It might take few months to get them done.
As we bid goodbye, Furqan’s eyes twinkled as he said, “Don’t think too much. Don’t be a sour old lady.”
I snorted.
Sometimes we don’t really tell each other much as both of us have our own lives but it’s great to have your own blood to trust. It’s great to have your own oppa, no matter how crazy he is.
