Older Sister, Younger Sister

Well, hello there! ^_^ Here's a piece of work I wrote a few months ago but was never confident to post it. It's repetitive, possibly cliche, and not as powerful as I wanted it to be. It's not my best work, but I hope it's something people could enjoy.

Any kind of criticism is welcome.

I hated my older sister because she never told me why Mother died. She always shunned the idea of talking about her—always avoided me whenever I did—never told me how Mother passed away. I knew—I just knew—that she hated Mother. My older sister abhorred Mother and probably was elated when she died. I hated my sister for hating Mother.

I hated my older sister because she never let me wear the clothes I wanted to wear. Like all the other girls, I wanted to show off my slim body and wear cropped tank tops and short skirts, but my older sister always scolded and refrained me from wearing those. Just because she wore long-sleeved shirts and long pants, didn’t mean I had to. Why couldn’t she understand? I never got a boyfriend. I hated older sister for controlling me.

I hated my older sister because she never let me go anywhere alone, even when I entered my teen years and early adulthood. She never trusted me to go to the store to get groceries. Even when I had to go next door to our neighbor, my sister would follow me. She never trusted me and I hated her for that.

I hated my older sister because she never wanted to follow me to the swimming pool or play with me at the beach. She would just watch me as I stood knee-deep in the sea, stared out into the sunset, felt lonely and bored. The one time I wanted her to play with me—the one time I wanted to have fun together—she still doesn’t want to change out of her clothes and join me. I hated her for abandoning me at the wrong times.

I hated my older sister because she never accompanied me in my room until I fell asleep. In my childhood and teen years, I was a coward who was afraid of everything and always wanted my older sister to accompany me in my room until I fell asleep. My older sister always refused, she never wanted to do a little favor for me. I hated her for neglecting me when I needed her.

I hated my older sister because she never let me get close to Father. She interrupted us when we talked and broke us up when we hugged. She told me to stay away from him. My older sister was selfish—I always see her with Father. They had a close relationship, and she didn’t want me to get in the way of their precious bond. I hate her for keeping Father all to herself.

I hated my older sister when she didn’t shed a single tear as Father died in my arms. He coughed out blood and as the life was drained from him, I cried and held him close. I looked up to my older sister, who stared at us blankly without a trace of pity or sadness. Her eyes were empty and her face was expressionless. She did not mind Father was gone. I hated her for not caring.

I hated my older sister for years. Even as she fell sick and became weak and was unable to cook the food anymore I still hated her. She lied down on the sofa all weak and frail, crying out to me to be careful everytime I disappeared form her sight. I hated her even as she was close to death.

Just like her with Father—I did not care when she died. My older sister passed away at a young age looking as though she was older than forty. She died quickly and in her sleep, and I was happy she died that way. At least she didn’t cause any trouble for me when she passed.

After attending her funeral, I returned home and entered her bedroom. I found a note of paper. It was written in ink—in my older sister’s handwriting.

‘My darling younger sister,

Forgive me for never telling you the cause of Mother’s death. I never enjoyed talking about her because if we did, it would remind me of the blood and screams when she died. The truth is, Mother died giving birth to you. You came out too early and caused her great pain. She lost a lot of blood and she died with you crying in her arms. I never told you this because I didn’t want you to live your life knowing the cause of Mother’s death was you.

My darling younger sister,

Forgive me for controlling what you wore. I knew you wanted to fit into society and be like your friends and attract the boys. When I was your age, I was stupid and revealed most of my body to the boys at school, and ended up regretting everything. I was the subject of rumors and men took advantage of me. You, being young and beautiful, would be easy prey for them. I didn’t want you to be violated.

My darling younger sister,

Forgive me for not giving you privacy. The outside world is big and cruel, and I’ve learned this the hard way. Father couldn’t care less every time I returned from the store with my skirt torn off or dirt on my face when unknown strangers jumped on me on my way home. I knew if I followed you around, I could be the subject of the perverse men whereas you could flee. Your safety was important to me.

My darling younger sister,

Forgive me for not joining you at the swimming pools or beaches during the holidays. The scars from the attacks have left ugly marks on my skin. I was ashamed of myself—and due to recent injuries, I was unable to run or move freely as you did back when we were teenagers. If I were to join you, you would see the ugly marks on my body and would consider me an embarrassment. I didn’t want you to think of me that way.

My darling younger sister,

I have a reason for not accompanying you to bed at night when you were scared, so please forgive me. A monster would follow us into your room and take advantage of us as I wait for you to doze off in the dark. That monster would rape you of your innocence and I would be there to watch it. The monster only follows me—which was why I made sure I spent every night far away from you as possible.

My darling younger sister,

Forgive me for straining your relationship with Father. He was the monster who would have raped you if I had accompanied you in your room. He was the monster who caused the fresh wounds which caused me pain and disabled me from moving like a free bird. He crept up to me every night and took advantage of me as you slept soundly in your room. I loathed him for what he did to me, so I did my best to make sure he didn’t move on to you.

My darling younger sister,

Now you know why I did not care when Father died. I poisoned him when he told me one bitter night he was sick of me and wanted to move on to you. It would be unbearable to see you—my beautiful, free and active younger sister—broken by his perverse ways. I saw no other way out so I slipped poison into his breakfast.

My darling younger sister,

By the time you have read this, I will be long gone, because I have also slipped some poison into my own meal. I could no longer stand to live. I could no longer stand to look at my scars and live with my broken soul. I want to escape from this regretful life I have lived. Most of all, I killed myself so you could be happy.

I know you hate me. I know you despise me. I’ve known all along, little sister.

Now that I have told you everything, please continue living. Fall in love and have children. Continue Mother’s generation. Do not forget the sins our Father had done. Do not forget my suffering.

Most importantly, do not forget I endured the suffering for you.

Even when you loathed me to the very core, even when you cursed me with scurrilous words, even when you glared at me everyday with scorn—you should know, my darling sister, that I love you.

And I will always love you with all my heart.’