Sophomore reflects on older brother leaving for college

There I was, 8 years old, facing another one of my brother’s culinary “experiments:” Broccoli Sushi. True to its name, the soggy, green vegetable was clumsily wrapped in a layer of seaweed. Why would anyone make this? And who would get roped into being its taste tester? The answer is quite simple: an aspiring young chef and his younger sibling. Broccoli Sushi fell flat, but it did not deter my brother’s culinary aspirations, and I, like every foolish younger sibling, remained his loyal follower. And loyal followers don’t want to get left behind. Maybe it’s a common thought among younger siblings; maybe it’s unique to me. For as long as I can remember, I’ve taken several small steps to measure up to my older brother’s colossal stride. It has been a struggle, but I’ve managed. The only problem is that he’s leaving me in just a few short months. And this time, I can’t catch up. UC Berkeley is snatching my brother, Sanj Nalwa, away from my flailing arms and I don’t know what to do with myself. No more witty banter at the dining table. No more critiquing actors, a favorite pastime of his. No more getting dragged to Amici’s East Coast Pizzeria before a movie of his choice. None of that. Not anymore. Who is going to come with me at 2 a.m. as I venture into the kitchen for some cookies and milk? Who will distract me with improper jokes and unseemly catch phrases? Yes, I will have my pick for dinner, I will have my parents’ undivided attention and I will probably be more productive without my biggest “distraction.” And, yes, I will be the master of the remote. I won’t be subjected to lengthy Indie films with disappointing endings; I can finally watch good movies. Except … there will be no one to sit beside me. My brother and I are almost three years apart, yet I cannot feel the age difference. We laugh at the same jokes, embarrass our family at fancy restaurants and prompt snooty salespeople to glower at us in department stores. As an individual, I’m reserved, self-conscious and shy, but when I’m with my brother, I couldn’t care less what people think of me. So why should the thought of my brother’s absence frighten me? I know, there are plenty of perfectly content “only children” out there, but it’s always been that way for them. It’s like this. The thermostat in my house has always been at 75 degrees. In several months, it will drop to 65 and I will, inevitably, reach for a tissue box and some Tylenol. But I’m not going to catch a cold because it will be 65 degrees; I’m going to catch a cold because the very thing that was constant for 15 years will have changed in two minutes. And just like that, I’m not afraid because I’m going to be an only child. I’m afraid because, for the first time, I will be an only child. I know once junior year strikes, these fears of being alone will take a backseat, and SATs and AP classes will become my new biggest “distraction,” diverting my attention from the empty space on the couch. At least, that is what I am hoping for. What I’m essentially trying to say, in a roundabout way, is that I’m really going to miss my big brother. And, as strange as it seems, I’m proud to admit it. I am going to miss him even though, like many older siblings, he duped me into doing things I regretted. Like when I was three he offered me five bucks to carry him piggy-back — I am still waiting for those five bucks. Or when he told me to put my hand on the glowing light bulb to see who could hold it there longer, but then after I burned myself, he revealed that he never intended to follow me. But I can also remember the two of us trying to see how many Disney rides we could squeeze into a Day Pass, or who could wade deeper into the rip tides of Santa Cruz Beach. I remember him teaching me how to ride the Rip Stick when I was in elementary school — even though he did this by not letting me eat or drink until I learned. Still, I will be sad to see him go. We are Dumb and Dumber, Jem and Scout and, as a teacher once told us, “quite the dynamic duo.” I love my brother, but as Clair Huxtable from “The Cosby Show” put it, “I’m not going to miss [him] because I love [him]. I’m going to miss him because I like him.” And do you know what? I think he’s really going to miss me too.