Three Strikes and We're Out

As of this September, I am an only child.

It doesn't really sound too surprising that though I've known this day would come since forever, it never really clicked. I couldn't even imagine life when all of my siblings entered the brave new world that is higher education. As a little shout out to my fellow youngests, I think that being the last to leave the nest is one of the harder burdens life places on us. A family separated, even on the nicest of terms (like university) is like the leftover scraps from a Sunday roast. Those left behind after the feast huddle together in shared little containers since they don't need the big plate anymore. It's not completely over, they can still be reheated and reunited in the microwave, but it just doesn't taste the same. No matter how close it is you still spend most of your time in the refrigerator.

It's an awkward comparison when I think about it too literaly (sounds like some post-apocalyptic survivor story - screw the matrix, we're really leftovers in the fridge), but right now I feel like the scraggly strips of roast someone left behind on their plate.

In my experience the parents always cry when they drop the first born and second born and so on off at the campus, or worse (and in my case) the airport. It's the younger siblings job to look on proudly, with a smile that says 'Good job! You finally made it!' The parents will always have a harder time than the siblings. I've never been alone to deal with the parental aftermath of saying goodbye before. I came home from school and my parents were sitting around, saying nothing. I didn't figure out why until I said something and discovered the terrible echo in the house.

Last weekend we moved me into my second brothers nicer, brighter, and bigger room. I still turn the wrong way at the top of the stairs, but I'm slowly adjusting. It doesn't look like my brothers room anymore, but my ownership of it feels weirdly temporary. I suppose it is; next September my mother gets to cry her last baby goodbye. In some ways I see this as a good thing. In most ways I see this as a good thing. Other times I don't want to think about what it'll be like for my parents, that boundless pride mixed with overwhelming sadness, and dusting off another empty room every once in a while... Progress is progress, however, and growing up is impossible without the crucial 'moving on' phase. Still, I wonder how they'll fight the echo when I'm not there to be loud.

We spend a lot more time together now, I think. We watch shows (V, currently). We invite people over for dinner. We don't play cards anymore (something that was once a nightly ritual for my family). Euchre is a four person game.

It's not all doom and gloom; like I said, we hit the microwave every now and then with phone calls and the wonders of Skype. But there's an awful lot of fridge time... Then again, it's only September, and the perks of being an only child (the disappearance of the want/need barrier) are a nice comfort.

As a side, I give you a view from my new bedroom window. It looks far more impressive in real life. Still, only in Trinidad, eh?

Perpockemint

Have you ever noticed that female clothing - pyjamas in particular - never seems to have any pockets? Whereas the male equivalent always has a ridiculous amount of pocket-space. I'm not really going into a big rant about the gender inequality of pyjama pockets here, I'm more just complaining about me not having anywhere to put my half-used tissue in the morning.

It's like whoever made these clothes just assumes that we don't need pockets. That we're never going to throw our cellphones in there, and we're never going to be in the situation where someone gives us something that we really don't want at the moment. At the very least, we'll never be in these situations while in our pyjamas. But the thing is that while in pajamas you're in your pocket-needing prime! It's the time of the day when you're least likely to have a bag or a jacket or something WITH pockets around you.

I have two older brothers, so my whole life I've been getting their old stuff, which of course includes pyjamas, so I can say (at least from my own experience) that I have only very rarely come across a pair of boys pyjama bottoms without pockets. Alternatively, I have only very rarely come across a pair of girls pyjama bottoms with pockets.

Also, pyjamas is spelt with a 'y'. What the fuck.

So I figure there must be some sort of explanation for this. Maybe we're supposed to keep things somewhere other than conveniently placed folds of fabric. My first thought is that we could put stuff in our bras (you know, the way the bad girls do it on tv?). But then that theory's dead because most females don't wear bras with their pyjamas (plus we can't all be bad). I suppose house coats have pockets, but I live in the Caribbean, so fuck anyone who wants me to run around in a fucking house coat all day.

The thing is that even if this problem with pyjamas could be sorted, I keep noticing that more and more of my normal clothes have no pockets in them. Either I'm a very unlucky buyer or there's some kind of pattern here! Even my school uniform has no pockets! School, the number one place for random odds and ends that you don't need right then but will probably need in a second!

I'm a hands-constantly-in-pockets person too, so when I find myself in a situation with no pockets, my hands get confused with the lack of a place to be, and I end up looking like I'm having some sort of fit.

I think the only real solution to this is to ban all non-pocket-having clothing. Really, is it that much of a hassle to throw some pockets in there? What kind of a world is this where you can't even get a pair of pajamas with some decent pockets in them?

(Answer: A world where laundry doers needn't fear the dreaded kleenix bits all over everything.)