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8 Siblings. 4 Time Zones. One WhatsApp Group. 8 Siblings. 4 Time Zones. One WhatsApp Group.
(1 day later)
I have one brother and half a dozen sisters, which meant a childhood of battling it out for the top bunk, sharing every pork chop, and once, breathing into a paper bag, having found myself alone in the car with my parents’ undivided attention for the first time. Most important, it means I now possess an army of best friends seven strong.I have one brother and half a dozen sisters, which meant a childhood of battling it out for the top bunk, sharing every pork chop, and once, breathing into a paper bag, having found myself alone in the car with my parents’ undivided attention for the first time. Most important, it means I now possess an army of best friends seven strong.
But the last time we all lived in the same place was in 1996, the year my older sister left Ireland for college in England. Now I live in New York, thousands of miles away from them all. Leaving was my decision, and it’s proven to be one of those choices that are largely wonderful, but that also comes with a downside I was not emotionally prepared for, like getting a dog and quickly realizing that means carrying bags of hot poop around the city for blocks at a time.But the last time we all lived in the same place was in 1996, the year my older sister left Ireland for college in England. Now I live in New York, thousands of miles away from them all. Leaving was my decision, and it’s proven to be one of those choices that are largely wonderful, but that also comes with a downside I was not emotionally prepared for, like getting a dog and quickly realizing that means carrying bags of hot poop around the city for blocks at a time.
So you can imagine how absolutely crazy it makes me feel to live thousands of miles away from them, by choice. I have my lucky American life but my family, my best friends, are not here. I have to figure out how, in that hateful expression, to stay in touch. So you can imagine how absolutely crazy it makes me feel to live thousands of miles away from them, by choice. I have my lucky American life but my family, my best friends, are not here. I have to figure out how, in that unfortunate expression, to stay in touch.
The closeness I have with them wasn’t always so clear to me. As small girls, four of us shared a room. My older sister, born three years before I was, learned how to spell first, a skill I was insanely jealous of. “G.O.T.O.S.L.E.E.P” she would hiss when I wouldn’t stop talking at night time, and I’d beg her to tell me what it meant. “Go to sleep,” she’d say, and I’d promise to go to sleep if she’d just tell me what she had spelled.The closeness I have with them wasn’t always so clear to me. As small girls, four of us shared a room. My older sister, born three years before I was, learned how to spell first, a skill I was insanely jealous of. “G.O.T.O.S.L.E.E.P” she would hiss when I wouldn’t stop talking at night time, and I’d beg her to tell me what it meant. “Go to sleep,” she’d say, and I’d promise to go to sleep if she’d just tell me what she had spelled.
My next youngest sister, Lilly, was a different type of menace. I learned early on that I was responsible for her, and I resented this. I was 6 when we visited some family friends who had a nice garden to play in and a fat blond dog that for some reason took a disliking to Lilly. The dog chased her, and she ran past me with her two little braids streaming behind her. Later that evening I was punished for not looking after her. My mother, with tears in her own eyes, was adamant that we must be loyal to one another, and protect and defend one another.My next youngest sister, Lilly, was a different type of menace. I learned early on that I was responsible for her, and I resented this. I was 6 when we visited some family friends who had a nice garden to play in and a fat blond dog that for some reason took a disliking to Lilly. The dog chased her, and she ran past me with her two little braids streaming behind her. Later that evening I was punished for not looking after her. My mother, with tears in her own eyes, was adamant that we must be loyal to one another, and protect and defend one another.
So this loyalty is set, no matter what. I have these six girls, now women, and one boy, now man, that are mine, my family. Their offspring are also mine, and with the arrival of a chubby baby boy earlier this year they number seven. We are spread across the world, in the United Arab Emirates, in Jordan, in England, in Ireland and in the United States. Our primary form of contact is a group WhatsApp chat: my parents and the eight children. Just the 10 of us. Every now and then one of us loses a phone or changes a number, and we start a new chat. The current one was created in August 2017 and holds 5,600 photos and probably four times as many messages.So this loyalty is set, no matter what. I have these six girls, now women, and one boy, now man, that are mine, my family. Their offspring are also mine, and with the arrival of a chubby baby boy earlier this year they number seven. We are spread across the world, in the United Arab Emirates, in Jordan, in England, in Ireland and in the United States. Our primary form of contact is a group WhatsApp chat: my parents and the eight children. Just the 10 of us. Every now and then one of us loses a phone or changes a number, and we start a new chat. The current one was created in August 2017 and holds 5,600 photos and probably four times as many messages.
When I wake up in New York there are messages from the Middle East waiting first, where my brother and one sister are eight hours ahead of me, then the messages from Europe flood in from five hours in the future. Jokes and conversations are well underway as I make coffee and read the responses to the message I sent before I went to sleep, a photo of a pair of bronze and marble eyes from the fifth century I’d seen at the Met that day captioned “me looking at dem scones.” One sister said the eyes are like her cat’s. Another sister said the eyes reminded her of us, circa 2008, when we would save time and money by drinking and doing our makeup on the train.When I wake up in New York there are messages from the Middle East waiting first, where my brother and one sister are eight hours ahead of me, then the messages from Europe flood in from five hours in the future. Jokes and conversations are well underway as I make coffee and read the responses to the message I sent before I went to sleep, a photo of a pair of bronze and marble eyes from the fifth century I’d seen at the Met that day captioned “me looking at dem scones.” One sister said the eyes are like her cat’s. Another sister said the eyes reminded her of us, circa 2008, when we would save time and money by drinking and doing our makeup on the train.
Bad news and difficult conversations are reserved for phone calls and visits. The WhatsApp group is chatter to let us know the small stuff, to keep us company wherever we are. It’s this small stuff, these wispy threads, that weave seamlessly into a fabric that stretches over the time and space between us.Bad news and difficult conversations are reserved for phone calls and visits. The WhatsApp group is chatter to let us know the small stuff, to keep us company wherever we are. It’s this small stuff, these wispy threads, that weave seamlessly into a fabric that stretches over the time and space between us.
Compared to many other immigrants, I know I’m extremely fortunate. I can visit Ireland twice a year and if I need to I can return for good. There’s a dozen free ways to connect; I can video chat and email and call.Compared to many other immigrants, I know I’m extremely fortunate. I can visit Ireland twice a year and if I need to I can return for good. There’s a dozen free ways to connect; I can video chat and email and call.
But the technology does have its shortcomings, and I feel them most acutely with my nieces and nephews. They change the most and the fastest and nothing can stand in for time spent. I call one sister and she asks if I can tell her children a story. Great, I say, settling in. What kind of story? A scary one, says the 6-year-old. On the spot, I remember a scary story, possibly an urban legend, about a man with long nails scratching on the roof of a woman’s car. He was scratching so she would open the door to investigate the noise and then he’d kill her, probably with hedge clippers. Before I got to the murder part, my sister interrupted. “How about the story where there was a fox in the garden but then it ran off?” she suggested instead.But the technology does have its shortcomings, and I feel them most acutely with my nieces and nephews. They change the most and the fastest and nothing can stand in for time spent. I call one sister and she asks if I can tell her children a story. Great, I say, settling in. What kind of story? A scary one, says the 6-year-old. On the spot, I remember a scary story, possibly an urban legend, about a man with long nails scratching on the roof of a woman’s car. He was scratching so she would open the door to investigate the noise and then he’d kill her, probably with hedge clippers. Before I got to the murder part, my sister interrupted. “How about the story where there was a fox in the garden but then it ran off?” she suggested instead.
I have a 3-year-old niece named Sadie. She hopes to run a bubble stand when she grows up, or maybe “be a cooker.” We adore each other. Recently, I video chatted with her mother, who showed the screen to Sadie. She looked up from her coloring book and smiled her beautiful gaptoothed smile. “Are you in Nana’s house?” she asked me. I had been at my parents’ house, 10 minutes from where Sadie and her family live, not that long before. “I’m not, Sadie. I’m sorry, I went away on the airplane,” I had to tell her.I have a 3-year-old niece named Sadie. She hopes to run a bubble stand when she grows up, or maybe “be a cooker.” We adore each other. Recently, I video chatted with her mother, who showed the screen to Sadie. She looked up from her coloring book and smiled her beautiful gaptoothed smile. “Are you in Nana’s house?” she asked me. I had been at my parents’ house, 10 minutes from where Sadie and her family live, not that long before. “I’m not, Sadie. I’m sorry, I went away on the airplane,” I had to tell her.
Behind her purple glasses, one brown eye was cast down sadly, and the other eye was obscured by a huge eye patch. I had an eye patch when I was her age and I hated it. I remember how significant small things can be when you’re small yourself, and I wish I was there to help her sort through her feelings. My own screen warped and I realized it was because my eyes had filled with tears.Behind her purple glasses, one brown eye was cast down sadly, and the other eye was obscured by a huge eye patch. I had an eye patch when I was her age and I hated it. I remember how significant small things can be when you’re small yourself, and I wish I was there to help her sort through her feelings. My own screen warped and I realized it was because my eyes had filled with tears.
I’m usually the last to check in on the family chat, from the subway coming home after a show or sun drunk after a trip to Brighton Beach. I read over the dozens of messages from the day, then I send photos of me posing with my head in a life-size Russian doll cut out followed by a series of small bouncing pink heart emojis. The reason I’m able to be here on my own, and have this life I love, is that they set me up for it. How strange that they made me strong enough to leave. From the next morning in Jordan, my sister sends the letters g.o.t.o.s.l.e.e.p.I’m usually the last to check in on the family chat, from the subway coming home after a show or sun drunk after a trip to Brighton Beach. I read over the dozens of messages from the day, then I send photos of me posing with my head in a life-size Russian doll cut out followed by a series of small bouncing pink heart emojis. The reason I’m able to be here on my own, and have this life I love, is that they set me up for it. How strange that they made me strong enough to leave. From the next morning in Jordan, my sister sends the letters g.o.t.o.s.l.e.e.p.
Maeve Higgins is the author of “Maeve in America: Essays by a Girl From Somewhere Else” and a contributing opinion writer.Maeve Higgins is the author of “Maeve in America: Essays by a Girl From Somewhere Else” and a contributing opinion writer.
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