I knew that, from the moment I met him, that my baby brother was going to be a special person.
I was four years old when Aang was placed in my arms for the first time. He wiggled in my arms, which were adjusted by one of the monks, and our eyes met. He stared at me with his large, gray eyes, and all I saw was a bright light. A light that I didn't want to put out, or let anyone else put out.
"I won't let anyone hurt you."
Maybe it was the way I half yelled, and half spoke that devotion. Maybe it was my age. Either way, when I said it, the monks in the room laughed.
The laughs continued to follow me through my life. First, they were amused. Amusement from how I fell asleep and woke up with a line of drool coming down the side of my face. How I held a scrub brush at an awkward angle before finally being shown the proper way to hold it. How I would make a face whenever Aang threw mashed taro in my face whenever I tried to feed him. There were other babies in the nursery, but Aang was special. The other monks kept insisting I show the same care and devotion to the other babies, but I would turn up my nose.
"Gitan, there are other babies besides Aang," they would say calmly. I wanted none of it.
Whenever I would find a way to sneak out of my own bed, I'd come to his crib. He would coo and gurgle at my approach; one time, I swore he was sounding out my name with noises of. "Jee Ta, Jee Ta." Whenever he was fussy, I would hum or sing to him one of the many songs I overheard the monks singing. It didn't always work, and if it didn't, I would have to swallow the thick stone that was my pride and let one of the monks working in the nursery soothe him. But when it did, he would quiet down and stare up at me with his large, gray eyes. The same eyes as mine. The same black hair as me, which I knew in time would be shaved away. We were so different yet the same.
When I would visit him, my life felt complete. His grubby hands would reach out for my face. I couldn't take him out of his bed like the monks, but at least I could be close. Once, a monk found me asleep by his crib, the impression of the tile having dug into my face. Other days, the monks would drag me away from his crib kicking and screaming. One day, I planted my feet in so hard that the monks had to literally carry me out with a strong gust of wind that they summoned using their Airbending.
One day, I was dangling a bottle over his head, and he was dissolving into fits of giggles as I dipped it over his gummy mouth, when a monk interrupted our moment of bonding. He saw my baby brother over my shoulder and picked him up. Aang's giggles dissolved into screams and crying. I glared at him and gripped the bottle tightly.
"Put him down!" I sniffed.
The monk gave me a dirty look. "You will have your brother back in due time. He has his own play session." He then paused, and after a moment, murmured, "I suppose having someone play with him couldn't hurt." He walked down the hall with Aang fussing in his arms still and I trailed close behind him. Amid Aang's fussing, I could make out him asking for "Jee Ta." I would jump so he could try to see me, but it was no use.
We turned a corner and I blinked. It was lit by several small candles. The windows were wide open, letting in a stream of sunlight. Leaves were blowing in and spinning in a curved dance of leaves. But as the leaves were blown across the ground, I saw a small clay turtle. But next to it was a battered whistle in the shape of a sky bison. The whole floor was covered with yellow blankets, and on each one were four different types of toys. From my lessons and field trips with the other monks, I recognized each pile of toys as a series from each of the four nations. Whale bone from the Water Tribe. Clay and stone from the Earth Kingdom. Metal from the Fire Nation. Bamboo and reeds from our people, the Air Nomads. A whole room filled with thousands of toys, from thousands of shops in our world.
The monk set Aang down. Using his chubby arms, my brother began crawling across the floor and started to scan the room with wide eyes. I giggled and ran out to join him in play time, but a wrinkled hand on my shoulder stopped me. I looked up at the monk, who was frowning so hard that I could count the number of wrinkles on his forehead. "Gitan, you can't play with your brother until I tell you that you can."
I folded my arms and slumped to the floor. I picked up a stuffed replica of a lemur and fiddled with its raggedy arms. The button eyes were made from shells, which caught the light and turned the silvery sheen a rainbow color as I changed which direction that I was holding it. I made a small tower from a series of wooden blocks. I made a blobby statue from clay that I proceeded to smush into a pile of goop. I reshaped the goop into a series of fake cups and set them up alongside the lemur and a stuffed turtle duck. I held an invisible teapot in my hand and began pouring. "Drink your butter tea," I recited, imitating the sister who watched me. "It'll help you feel warm." The toys sat still, but in my mind, I could hear the slurping of the butter tea.
My investment of pretend conversation was interrupted by the monk telling me that I could play with my brother. I picked up the lemur and rushed over to Aang. He was shaking an orange and yellow toy drum and giggling as the beads hit against the hollow opening.
Playtime was called to a halt after an hour. My eyes were heavy and sleep was calling me. Aang had already fallen asleep, his tiny head resting next to the lemur that we both had been playing with together. The monk came over and picked him up gently, wrapping a yellow blanket around him. "He'll be back in the nursery, Gitan." It was the last thing I remembered before apparently falling asleep holding a stuffed turtle duck.
The next morning, the same monk came to me when I was eating my breakfast. The turtle duck toy was sitting next to me on a rock. I had set out a spoon and bowl for it. We locked eyes for a moment before he spoke with sudden severity that it made me straighten my spine. "Gitan," he said, "You and your brother are going to the Southern Air Temple. Together. You promised to protect him, and so you will."
That was how Aang and I were bundled into thick yellow and orange clothes that itched but nonetheless kept us warm as a sky bison flew through the clouds. The drastic change of leaving the ground made my ears pop, and I cried out in pain. Aang cried, too, and we both were consoled by one of the monks flying with us in the large, roomy saddle. The wind grew colder the further South we flew. I could see small little flurries blow past my eyes, drifting to mingle with leaves that were drifting up. I clutched the orange shawl around my chest, fighting a shiver. My hair billowed in my face with each sheet of wind. The smell of hay and the earthy musk I associated with sky bison mingled with the air, creating a unique, if not comforting, sense of safety in the long nights of flying. I would sleep next to Aang, his laughter and cooing usually being my alarm to awaken to see a pastel dawn or a hazy sky dusted with various cloud formations.
We flew for days. The craggy rocks of the Eastern Air Temple where Aang and I had spent our early days vanished into ice flows, churning dark water, and valleys covered in snow. There would be an occasional patch of greenery or scrubby areas, but everything else faded. The monks would pause to let the sky bison rest several times. With each ascension after our stops, I became used to the changing pressure of air going up and down.
We continued to fly until I was starting to get tired of watching Aang crawl and make efforts to walk in the saddle. Granted, my fears of him falling out were always quelled when a nun grabbed him and put him in her lap or mine. Aang would wail loudly and horrible. I brushed tears off his chubby cheeks and bounced him and fed him whenever I could.
The sun was high the day we reached our destination. The monk steering our sky bison pointed out the mountains on either side.
"This is the Patola Mountain Range," a monk said, pointing out the long pillar like columns of stone. "When you see it, you know you are close to our southern sanctuary."
I committed those pillars to my memory as best as I could. But then, through the veil of mist and clouds, stood a large, white tower. Tiny buildings clustered around its base, forming white and blue divets against the greenery. Sky bison were floating and grazing around. Giant winged individuals that I first thought were wolf bats flying in the daytime were revealed to be Airbenders, cutting through the currents with large orange gliders.
"There it is" the nun said gently to Aang and I, "the Southern Air Temple. Your new home."
Home. The word pounded in my chest. I ran my hand through Aang's hair as he sat in my lap. We would be home. Together. I would be sure that nothing would ever harm him.
The bison landed on a small weedy patch of land where other bison were settled. The nun helped me and Aang out of the saddle and led us through the grounds. I saw several monks meditating. In one courtyard, older children were playing by moving their hands quickly or scuttling fast, creating gusts of wind and air to make toys dance around. Some were sitting in front of a monk who guided them through motions, assessing how they were able to craft the flow of air.
We entered a white building lined with open doors. Standing before us was another monk. But unlike our travel guides, this monk had a gentle, friendly face. His gray eyes were wide and inviting, much like the mustache that reminded me vaguely of a whale walrus.
"Oh!" he said, noticing me holding Aang tightly. "Who are they?"
"Your newest pupils, Monk Gyatso. This is Aang. And this," our guide gestured to me, "is his big sister Gitan."
Gyatso looked at me and Aang curiously. He extended his arms towards me, and I hesitated before finally handing him Aang. I must have shown defiance because he laughed softly. "Oh, so protective of your little brother."
"I promised I'd protect him always," I said proudly, my chest puffing with pride.
From that day on, Aang and I lived under Monk Gyatso's guidance. From him, he taught us everything about The Air Nomads lifestyle. It was based entirely on the concept of air. How the wind changed, and with it, came different times of the years.
Starting when I was about five, the monks had begun teaching me the philosophies of Air. Air was always around. It was light and invisible, but when focused it could become something mighty. Air was always meant to evolve. It could be scented from the smells of bread baking. It could be a small puff that put out a candle. It could be a stream that made leaves and flower petals dance or hit wind chimes to create a melody during morning and afternoon meditation. Although the Air Nomads thrived on freedom, those who chose to lay roots in the temples led spiritual practices. These included long meditations, a diet that involved no meat, and of course, the art of Airbending.
Airbending was a part of life.
Airbending was how the Air Nomads showed their idea of detachment from the world. With just a wave of their arms, air could be cradled. I began my training under Monk Gyatso. During my time with him, I learned how to maneuver elegantly. One day, he handed me a small stick. "Hold it in front of you, Gitan," he guided me though a proper hold. The stick felt right in my hands. He then grabbed a long staff after ensuring my stance and grip were correct.
"Now, wave it in this way," Gyatso demonstrated a series of turns with his hands I watched him move it in a sideways formation. I took the sticks and mirrored him. When I finished my rotations, he corrected some of my angles and made notes verbally. "Make sure your arms are tucked in closer, and keep your stance even."
"Yes, Monk Gyatso."
He nodded and led me down to the courtyard. Several other Airbender students were waiting. Of course all of them were boys. I was the only girl child in the Southern Air Temple. Usually, girls stayed in the Western and Eastern Air Temples. Yet, for some reason, the council at the Southern Air Temple humored my determination to be close to Aang. As such, I wore the same orange and yellow pants that the boys wore. The material was itchy on hot days, but it was comforting in the winter months.
I stood next to the boys. My black hair was pulled back into a tight low ponytail. The boys, naturally, had shaved their heads bald. I felt like I was standing in a carton of eggs. Gyatso stepped before us, lecturing us on how to maneuver long gates behind us. If we could move through the spinning gates without getting touched, we would move on to move advanced forms of Airbending.
My heart beat loudly at the idea. I would be an Airbender. Aang would be one as well. Together, we'd be unstoppable forces of wind! We'd have our own Sky Bison! We'd fly over the four nations and visit it all! We'd play games with Airbending. We'd have everything at the tips of our fingers!
With baited breath, I watched each boy before me start spinning the gates. The simple spin and push looked easy enough. Stay light, keep the arms in, and then push the arms forward. The air blast would start the gates. I paid attention to the spinning whirls of wood. While some boys got through the gates with no effort, some struggles. The gates would bump them out, or even send them onto their backsides. Each mistake would make us all laugh, and then we'd be refocused by Monk Gyatso.
"Gitan," he gestured to me when it was my turn.
I stared at the gates as their spinning calmed. I brought my hands to my chest and inhaled. My chest pushed forward, filling with air. I took a slow, low step forward. I hopped in the air like I had seen some of the other boys do. The spin was quick, but I kept my eyes on the Airbender insignia on one gate. I landed in front of the gate in a lunge. I exhaled and thrust my arms forward.
The gates just stood completely still.