Goodbye, Rabeya

Isn’t it spectacular how the tributaries flow from different areas and drain in the same estuary?

This was the last sentence of the last email from Rabeya. A clear, loud, echoing goodbye which I just realized a few moments back. 

The sky was awfully pale, the breezes awfully chilling. Drops of water dripped from the leaves on the shrubs and trees, and the soil smelled of petrichor. Occasionally a magpie or two would perch on the railing of the veranda and sing short notes. A peaceful aura is cruel when you bear a heavy burden of pain and sadness inside.

The photo of Rabeya on the picture frame was smiling exuberantly, holding a trophy she won during the time she was in high school. Her eyes were glinting behind her thick-framed spectacles, while her face was lit up with a broad smile, showing her zigzag, uneven teeth. It was so realistic, that I could almost hear her laughing, beaming with pride, and see her tilting her head side-wise, happily posing for the photo. The fact that I could never see her doing it in reality was like a hot melted iron being struck right through my heart.

Growing up, I was never close with Rabeya. She was the favorite child, the more adorable niece, the cooler cousin. She was a nerd, freckled, bespectacled, had uneven teeth and was a bit corpulent, yet somehow she was beautiful in her own way. Beautiful like the seaside. The sand coats and sticks to your feet, yet the sun setting over the blue seas is ethereal. And that is what got me annoyed forever- I wasn’t perfect like her. I wasn't the two-goody-shoes with squeaky clean records and straight As in my end-of-term report card. I was not the one with cupboard of trophies and not the one who got praised and cheered by all. I wasn't the natural leader. I was always reminded that I am not her, and that ate me up inside.

The world would not let me forget that for once, not even by mistake. Each passing moment I was compared against her, like if I was a piece of lace that did not match for the dress. Like jigsaw piece that would not fit in the picture-perfect puzzle. They would remind me that constantly, for infinity. Surprisingly, people say that comparison between two people is not justified, and yet they do it very second of the passing time. World is a confusing mess.

It isn't that I don't like Rabeya. In fact, I love her, more than I admit. This is why regret is my constant companion: I never told her that I adored her, and I never could since she won't be receiving the call anymore nor check her chat-box. Anyways, the people around me obliged us both to forget that we loved one another. She would boss me around, inflated with pride. A pride which id fueled with a regular reminder that she is flawless. I would hate her, because I was jealous that I could never be her.

That hatred brewed within me for years.

Thus when she said she would be moving out, I was smiling ear to ear. Finally, a room to myself and myself only, no more comparison and ranting about how I should be like Rabeya, no more sharing anything,and no big, brooding sister.

The day she moved out, she embraced me tightly. It was peculiar, since we keep fighting dawn till dusk, and dusk till dawn. I carefully and slowly put my arms around her, suspicious whether it was the start of some sort of prank or not. Bewildering me again, she was crying. I could feel my shoulder, where she rested her head, getting wet. It was the longest hug we ever had. And the last.

She promised to write me emails everyday. She did not break that promise. Everyday there was a new email from her at 6:30 p.m. It mostly contained childhood stories, her trips to the mountains and beaches and the book she was writing. I never wrote her back, hoping she would stop sending me those recollections. But she kept her promise.

The truth is, which I realized just last night, that Rabeya never moved out. She was admitted to a clinic. She had a brain tumor. She passed away yesterday, at night.

Surprisingly, you only notice someone when you know you’d never see them again. Storms of shredded memories now fill my head, and haunt me constantly. The times that she saved me from the bullies. The times she would never eat a chocolate until she shared its half with me. The times I rested my head on her shoulder, crying. The times that she would applaud despite my horrible singing, knowing how much I love singing.

I felt guilty. Guilty, to be jealous of such an angelic sister. For not being there when she was battling with death.

I am sorry, Rabeya.

I was checking through my emails just a half an hour back when I found hers. The last one I’ll ever receive from her. I read it three times, trying to not start sobbing uncontrollably. It was about one of her trips, a river, its tributaries and an estuary.

The last part of it was:

No matter how crooked a path they take, they still reached the estuary. Isn’t it spectacular how the tributaries flow from different areas and drain in the same estuary? 

Isn’t it quite bewildering that no matter what route we take, it ends at one point? How we all once meet, part our ways and meet again?

Like the rivers, we crisscross, we divide, and yet here we are again: we finally have to embrace death like an old, expected friend, no matter how much we yearn to stay back even for a moment.

Life is an abyss of mess. We never appreciate what we have, but we spare no loss at regret for what we lose- not that we can help it.

The gust of wind is now swishing past the veranda, whispering condolences about the loss. The sky have turned grey again, ready to initiate a deluge from the top of the Earth. Like my eyes.

Hey Rabeyapu, wherever you are, be happy. I never said it before, but I love you. I miss you. Be happy for me, promise, sis?