My Life's Secrets

My mom used to tell my older sister and me that it was bad to keep secrets from her, that a family should always be open and never keep anything from each other.
At that time, I thought I could tell my mom anything. So I did.
But when I was eight years old, I kept one secret from her. Just one. Then the pile of do-not-tell-mom secrets just kept growing and growing. I knew I was drifting apart from her.
She’d never understand me. I thought at that moment. I was at the stage in my life where I thought my mom was never a teenager. And, let’s face it; she wasn’t a teenager in my time. So I had a feeling that she wouldn’t understand me. The only person I could tell was my older sister.
We used to share a bedroom and when we couldn’t sleep, we’d tell each other our secrets.
I soon found out that I shouldn’t have told her everything. Every time I wouldn’t do what she told me to do, she’d blackmail me. Saying that she’d tell the whole school.
Looking back, I know she wouldn’t have done that, because I know some of her secrets too.
A few days later, we didn’t share secrets anymore.
I was nine when I realized my mom hadn’t told me any of her secrets. I didn’t mind because I hadn’t been telling her any of mine either.
But it got to the point where I was learning the things she was hiding from us through our maid.
I used to want to be like my mother when I grew up, but when I discovered that one thing, and then seen it with my own eyes, I didn’t want anything to do with her.
I was around ten years old then. I know it seems a bit harsh to say that at such a young age, but believe me, if you knew what my mother had been doing behind our backs, you’d side with me.
My sister and I tried to tell our mother that we knew. We didn’t have the courage. My sister had tried blurting it straight out into the open once. I tried to lead the conversation to it.
We both failed.
My mom was around thirty five when we found her secret out. My dad was sixty seven then.
We decided not to tell our father about it, just in case it would ruin what our family had. Not that it had much.
Our family had started to fall apart just a few years after I was born. I was five and my sister was nine. She had begged my father for a cell phone, saying that all her friends had one.  Dad told her she was too young and that she’d get one when she was older. That’s when she started to despise him.
They used to be so close. And he used to give her everything she asked for. I guess that’s why when he finally said no, she started to hate him.
I think she started to hate them both when they let me use my mom’s old cell when I was eight years old. My sister was at the mall with her friends and my mom. My mom had given me the cell telling me that I was going to use it only to communicate with her and only for emergencies.
I agreed, deciding not to go against her orders and only use it to tell her where I was and whether or not I was on my way there.
I arrived with my nanny and my mom left to buy a few groceries, leaving the phone with me, and not my sister, but with me. She told me that she would text me when she was on the way.
I went to the bathroom with my nanny. I gave her the phone to hold while I peed. When I left the stall, I had completely forgotten about it. I was eight, I was forgetful, I was irresponsible.
Luckily for me, my mom hadn’t texted but just showed up. When we got home, she asked me for the phone and I searched for it in my pockets, in my school bag, everywhere I could think of. I confessed to my mother that I didn’t have it. She then interrogated me about where I had last seen it. Turned out, my nanny had stolen it and never admitted it.
Anyway, my sister finally got the phone she had been waiting four years for. She was thirteen. She was in love with that cell phone and she got addicted to it that my parents were forced to ground her from it. She got it back a few days later of course, but her hatred for them grew.
Two years later, my sister’s cell broke and my parents decided to get her a new one from the states. My sister was so happy and she kept smirking my way. I admit, when I saw it, I was seething with jealousy. But I told myself that I would get mine in two years, I could wait that long. But my dad pulled out another box from the suitcase, revealing my new, red SGH-A707. At first I thought it was just an empty box, but I peeked inside, and there was my flip phone.
I looked towards my sister, just to see what her reaction was. And her triumphant smile was replaced with an angry frown. She glared at me and I faced my parents, almost returning the cell phone because I was so sure that she was going to kill me.
And at that time, she almost did.
The first time, she tried to drown me. Lucky for me, our swimming coach passed by in time to pull her off me.
The second time was when I had just turned nine. She came stomping into the house and started to choke me. My nanny dragged her across the room.
The third time, I don’t remember so well. I think I was eleven. I was in the kitchen, drinking a glass of water when she ran out of her room, pulled a knife out of the kitchen drawer and started to chase me around the house. My nanny grabbed me and pushed me into her room. Locking the door behind her. I remember my eyes filling with tears as I heard my sister’s voice on the other side of the door, screaming for me to get out.
I spent the whole day in my nanny’s room, even after my sister had left.
Looking back, I think I might be able to guess the reasons she tried all those things.
My sister had been swimming her whole life and she got a lot of attention from our relatives, friends and most importantly, our parents. When I came into the picture and started to take some attention away from her (unintentionally, of course) she decided to get rid of me.
Secondly, my parents had let me use a phone before she did and they built a pool just for my ninth birthday (Actually the workers had finished it a day before my birthday so technically it wasn’t my fault. I didn’t even ask for it). So she probably thought that to get our parents love back, she’d have to kill me off.
Finally, I had gotten my very first cell phone. Two whole years before she got hers.
But among all of the things that my sister has ever done to me, was tell me that she wished she was an only child.
That hurt more than I could describe.
Even with all the things she had done to me, I loved her. I really loved her. I looked up to her. She was beautiful and smart. My parents used to tell me a lot of times that I had to be as smart as her. I spent my whole life listening to everyone tell her that she was so beautiful. And then they’d look at me and say nothing.
Even my parents did that. They’d introduce us to their friends and eagerly stand next to my sister and wait for the praise while I’m left in the background.
No one has ever told me I was beautiful. My mom doesn’t count, she’s biased.
My sister knew she was pretty, she was pretty vain too. She always took pictures of herself, and posted them online just to show people she was pretty. I remember one time when we were at the mall, she suddenly turned and faced me, telling her that she hated the fact guys kept staring at her and girls kept glaring at her. She said that with a smile. I said nothing and walked away.
She had eight boyfriends since she was thirteen; six that she had met personally and two long distance. She’s eighteen now. They all got together with her for one reason; she was easy on the eyes.
My friends all told me that she was pretty, girls and boys alike. Except for one.
My best friend. She told me that at first, she thought my sister was very pretty, but had experienced how my sister really acted, and how my sister was ugly to her now.
I am grateful to her. It actually made me feel pretty for once in my entire life.
Anyway, what I’m trying to say is. My sister and I have always been jealous of each other.
My parents are stricter of her than they are of me. Why? She’s prettier so she has more chances of being kidnapped, raped, then killed.
She doesn’t understand that. So she hates me for being able to hang out with my friends. And I hate her for being pretty.
It’s probably the only thing we have in common.
Hate.
~~~~~
 
LoveAndBeLoved LoveAndBeLoved
13-15, F
Aug 1, 2010