I never hated anyone in my life. Never felt the need to do so. I simply avoid people who bother me. Why waste time letting myself be annoyed by others’ distasteful attitudes anyway? Ramble all they want, they don’t interest me. My life is at peace.
Or so I thought.
There is someone who regularly succeeds to get on my nerves. And this someone, inconveniently, I cannot possibly avoid.
My sister is a lot of things – beautiful (she wins pageants), smart (cum laude!), determined. But she is also a terrible nuisance. Moody. Impractical. Brat. These all point to my sister’s attitude and I have more than enough proofs to back me up too.
On the record, I don’t hate her. No. Not to that extent. Not when I was six and she pushed me on the slide so hard my chin got wounded big time. Not when she blew my 7th birthday candle while I was wishing with my eyes closed (and so my wish never came true). Not when she slapped my right leg with much force that through the years it has turned into a sort-of birth mark. Not even when she threw a rubber snake at me while I was biking and I got out of control ultimately making me lunge into the river. And definitely not when she accused me infront of our family last month of cigarette-smoking because I was seen talking to a friend who smokes. Again, I don’t hate her.
But she is the only one who manages to bring me regular doses of annoyance. Two years older than me and now done with college, Ate never fails to stress her superiority over me and our younger brother. Yes, she loves being the eldest child, especially that part of bossing us around.
People never noted any similarity between Ate and me. She got mommy’s looks and attitudes and I got daddy’s. She wears her hair short and highlighted, mine is long and black. She is girly and preppy, I go for comfort and sporty. She dances and sings, I don’t (I just don’t).
But it was only when I started getting disturbed with her ranting that the inevitable schism between us became achingly obvious. I am annoyed with my sister because…
She gets mood swings, all the time! Sometimes she’s fine to talk to, friendly even. Then after a breeze barely passes she suddenly yells for no other reason at all but her plain unpredictable nature. Whether I call her for dinner, ask her the time, or try to converse with her, if she feels like shouting at me, she would do so! She would get mad at me, for merely being there, leaving me blank-faced. “What?”
She takes over our entire room and leaves only my bed excluded in her self-imposed territory. And she throws all my things in my bed, claiming that they are scattered all over. I can’t even leave the things I’m working on in the table. She got her meticulousness from my mother. But I can say she’s overdoing it.
She has this girly pink fetish that always makes my eyebrows meet. Ok, I may sound biased with this so let me admit my own fetish for yellow things. To clear the distinction, I only buy those I actually use, like a yellow wristwatch, a yellow handkerchief, a yellow file folder, yellow bags and shirts. You get the idea. As for my impractical sister, she buys pink of those things too PLUS anything pink and cute that catches her attention, whether a figurine, stickers, mini stuff toys, key chains, clips she don’t use and other petty stuffs that one can live without. It annoys me to know how much she spent on those useless stuffs (and how much our room is filled with such).
She is irrationally figure-conscious. She looks well, yet still buys those slimming drinks (which I believe are more or less commercial lies) and insists on not eating rice at dinner, or any dinner at all. Mommy says Ate is just acting like any normal young lady. (So what does that make me, mom?)
Also, Ate eyes me and throws negative remarks on the amount of food I eat, and on how I eat. She disapproves of my eating with my legs up the chair, of using my hands, of drinking two glasses of either pineapple juice or coke always, of my fondness for sea foods (I barely eat other meats), to name a few.
I tell her, REMIND her that I play lawn tennis regularly every weekend, that’s why I don’t fret on my weight, or my figure. I told her to do so too. It’s healthy. But no (rolls eyes), she would rather starve and deprive herself of delicious food than to venture into sports or even exercise. She says she doesn’t like to sweat! Rationality justified? No.
She speaks of my hobbies like they are bad. I grew up with much fondness for books. She calls me a nerd, a boring bookworm who delves in fantasy and needs to get in touch with reality. I keep journals, since fifth grade, writing my experiences, thoughts and dreams. She tells me to “get a life.” I love gardening. I have a green thumb. She says she loves plants too, so she waters them. But when it comes to planting and actually touching the soil, she suddenly wears a disgusted look. Dirty work, she says. I love coffee. I drink floods of such substance. She says I’m a 60-year-old trapped in a 19-year-old body, and added “No wonder you don’t have a social life.”
She keeps minding my hair. I remember when I was in highschool, I suddenly woke up and screamed as looked at my pillow. She cut my hair while I was asleep. It was one of those rare moments when mommy got mad at her that I forced myself to hide a grin despite my tears. I love my long hair. And I believe I look best with its simplicity. I do not feel that layering it, dying it, or cutting it short would fit me. She says it’s “BORING” (uppercase hers). So? Look around! Everyone else has got styled hair. I don’t know about you, but if the general teenage population is doing the same thing, I want to be doing something else. In my case, keeping it naturally.
She disapproves of my “taste” in boys. And I disapprove of hers too. In fact I can’t decipher her preference at all. I think it’s random. Ate disapproves of my two ex-boyfriends, who happen to be campus heartthrobs (you know, cool, popular, athletic, handsome, and from a decent-rich family.)
“Explain to me why this preoccupation with dopey athletes happens to even headstrong young women who score superior on their IQ test?” my sister commented on my Friendster. For some reason, the bare-bones honesty of her statement only fuelled my growing sense of annoyance
And yes, even after each breakup, whatever the reasons, we remain close friends. No bitterness there or whatever you call it. But my sister insists that I should NOT be friends with them “after what they have done.” What? Like ex-lovers can’t be friends or something? She also disapproves of them being two (2) years younger than me. I don’t know about you, but hasn’t it been said overtime that age doesn’t matter? My sister fails to comprehend such notion.
As for her, she has had two boyfriends, both her age. The first one was a math geek. International math quiz champ, tall, thin, curly hair. They lasted three years until the guy broke up with her. Then I heard he attempted to get back with her, but she said she doesn’t recycle trash. I saluted Ate for that!
After almost two years, she have a new beau who is (well, I don’t wish to be mean, but I’d rather be honest than kind right now) vertically-challenged. Picture this: my sister is way taller than me, and I’m taller than the guy. I am just bothered because I take pride in my sister’s reputation as a beauty queen in our town. Now why don’t I approve of him? I found him as interesting as a bag of rice.
I remember just last month, I was reading “Boy Meets Girl” by Joshua Harris while Ate keeps glancing at me. Disturbed, I put the book down, “Ano yun?” With a teasing smile, Ate goes “gusto mo hanapan kita ng boyfriend? Yung kapatid ni ano…” “Ayoko ng tipo mo” I cut her off and got the book up again on my face.
What discombobulated me even more was that she was suddenly shouting at me for insulting (get this) not her, but her bf. I was just silent, and the topic of her anger shifted to my scattered things on my cabinet, then back to my alleged insult, then her insulting my own preference, ending the rant by banging the door as she left the room. I continued reading.
My sister is a lot of things – beautiful, smart, determined. But she also has a terrible temper. Yet, despite our oppositional stance, I wouldn’t wish to have any other sister. I feel like I’m the only suitable younger sister for her, not because I have enough patience to stand her, not because I can deal with her, but because I understand her. She may not admit, but I know most of the time she’s is just being sisterly sweet.
I never hated her in my life. Never felt the need to do so. I simply avoid her when she starts bothering me. Why waste time letting myself be annoyed by her distasteful attitudes anyway? Ramble all she wants, I’m used to it. My life is at peace. #
(Submitted for BLL104 under Prof. Subido. August 25,2009)