So what do you do when you have the weekend ahead of you? Redecorate your house, of course. At least according to my mom, that's what's supposed to be done. So instead of finishing my observation project for my World Religions class and my Sustainable Living outline for Philosophy, I spent the weekend general cleaning and rearranging the furniture. Snippets of conversation included and was not limited to:
"It's okay, Pa. It's just menopause. She'll get over it."
"No. The furniture do not want to be rearranged. They are happy where they are right now."
"It's okay, Momi. We understand. Don't feel bad. As long as you're happy, we're unhappy." (That was after my dad got his toe bloody due to the computer table).
"You, why you torture me so?"
"I could be typing!!"
"This is abuse."
"I suggest you just quit your job and become an interior decorator. That way you can satisfy this obsession of yours."
"No, thank you." (After being asked/told if we should fix my room now).
"Go away, Momi. I'll pencil you in instead."
"I could be typing!!"
"You lied to me! You said that we wouldn't be moving any more furniture!" (After a long debate on how she wanted to switch the coffee tables).
"That's discrimination. You're making it insecure. You're making it feel fat." (My reply after my mom said that the coffee table is too long and doesn't match the formal living room).
"I could be typing!!"
Momi: "Now, doesn't that look nice?"
Kat: /Eye twitch/ Glare.
The only winning thing about the events was getting a new red comforter and pillow cases with white floral designs and new curtains from IKEA. And that was a trick too. I wanted art materials for my birthday, and now I get a makeover for my room and backache instead. I'm too young for this. I will get a red bookcase for my room though, so that will be great. All's fair with moms and menopause.
April 05, 2009
March 29, 2009
Still Looking For A Dream
Of the things that scare me, I can name three: I am afraid of losing my family, just the thought of them dying makes me cry. I am afraid of loving, the thought of surrendering myself to someone who can break me is unfathomable. And third, I am afraid of dreaming, the thought of wanting something so much only to be disappointed is too much.
Next month, I will be 20. I don't particularly mind getting older. It is just an increase in number, a birthday is just a means of measuring your time on earth. Age does not equate to maturity or intelligence. I could be forty and have a maturity of a thirteen year old, and be as smart as a physicist. Age does not mean a lot to me. The only thing I am really happy about turning twenty is the feeling of triumph I might get. Finally, I caught up to my older siblings. Maybe I'll have more common ground with them since I will no longer be a teenager.
The nursing advisor from the university I am applying to called me last Friday to inquire if I was still serious about my application. Of course. Presently, the desire to enter Nursing school is the only thing I am being driven by. I don't care if I don't get any vacation, if I'll study to the pain, I don't care. As long as I get accepted into their program then that's all that matters. And that scares me the most. I've always felt that if I wanted something so much then the world will conspire against me. I'm not afraid of failure, I am afraid of disappointment.
When I was younger I wanted so much for my family to be a family. A family that would be together, seeing each other off as the day started, going home and sharing stories during dinner, playing, having picnics and outings together, being there for each other happily ever after. Of course, that never happened seeing as my two older siblings were in college, my older brother disliked me, my parents were in their own world, and I was the youngest daughter still in grade school. Move over kiddie, we have lives to handle. By the time I was in high school, I no longer cared if we were in the same house or not and whether my parents would be home on the weekend. My life isn't as melodramatic in reality, but that was because I didn't care. I've learned to be content that they're alive.
When I was in fifth grade, I remember being called to the Principal's office because they wanted me to compete for a scholastic writing contest. I remembering protesting that I knew nothing about writing but they assured me that it didn't matter. All I had to do was write in Filipino and it would be fine. Oh. So I did as I was told and went off with other students to the competition. I was scared to death that day with all the unfamiliarity and anxiousness. Even today I cannot remember what the topic was, all I can remember was berating myself for not learning cursive and not knowing how to count 2500 words. Tough luck, kid. At the end, when they were announcing the top nine winners, I could remember sitting stiffly and thinking how happy I would be if I won the ninth position. I dared not hope higher when I knew nothing about writing. I was so disappointed when I never heard my name that I stopped listening at the sixth placer. But I remembering tensing further when my classmate, who was also in the competition for illustration, started shaking me and shrieking, "You won! You won!" I stared at her perplexedly and asked her what I won, to which she replied, "They called your name! You won the first place!" Imagine that. I was thankful that I made in to the stage without passing out.
Later that week the winners from my school were told that we were going to another competition. I was ecstatic that I dared to hope. I wanted to win again. I've never been good at anything before that when I got my first trophy, I thought I could do it again. Of course, I wasn't able to win again and I wasn't able to go to the competition. I wanted so badly to cry but it hurt so much to even try, so I just pushed to bitter experience to the back of my mind. Pain burns so much like acid and disappointment is like a crushing blow. I never attempted to write again after that. It was too painful and raw.
And now, I am back to dreaming. I'm back to hoping that this time I'll be accepted into that program and I'll be graduating as a nurse in two years. I wish. Do I dare to put my heart on a platter and hope that it won't be crushed? The only reason I've stopped wanting things is because disappointment requires too much emotion. And that is why this blog's header is Bombeck's quote. I've stopped dreaming long ago, the moment I knew that apathy was safer was the moment I stopped caring. I no longer desired for my family to be together, I no longer dreamed of greatness, and I no longer wanted. I stopped being a child and went off into the world of adult skepticism and pessimism. But once more, I will hope. I will hope for my future that I will be accepted to their program and finally start my way to nursing. Just once more, I will dream and not be tainted by the doubt of disappointment.
Next month, I will be 20. I don't particularly mind getting older. It is just an increase in number, a birthday is just a means of measuring your time on earth. Age does not equate to maturity or intelligence. I could be forty and have a maturity of a thirteen year old, and be as smart as a physicist. Age does not mean a lot to me. The only thing I am really happy about turning twenty is the feeling of triumph I might get. Finally, I caught up to my older siblings. Maybe I'll have more common ground with them since I will no longer be a teenager.
The nursing advisor from the university I am applying to called me last Friday to inquire if I was still serious about my application. Of course. Presently, the desire to enter Nursing school is the only thing I am being driven by. I don't care if I don't get any vacation, if I'll study to the pain, I don't care. As long as I get accepted into their program then that's all that matters. And that scares me the most. I've always felt that if I wanted something so much then the world will conspire against me. I'm not afraid of failure, I am afraid of disappointment.
When I was younger I wanted so much for my family to be a family. A family that would be together, seeing each other off as the day started, going home and sharing stories during dinner, playing, having picnics and outings together, being there for each other happily ever after. Of course, that never happened seeing as my two older siblings were in college, my older brother disliked me, my parents were in their own world, and I was the youngest daughter still in grade school. Move over kiddie, we have lives to handle. By the time I was in high school, I no longer cared if we were in the same house or not and whether my parents would be home on the weekend. My life isn't as melodramatic in reality, but that was because I didn't care. I've learned to be content that they're alive.
When I was in fifth grade, I remember being called to the Principal's office because they wanted me to compete for a scholastic writing contest. I remembering protesting that I knew nothing about writing but they assured me that it didn't matter. All I had to do was write in Filipino and it would be fine. Oh. So I did as I was told and went off with other students to the competition. I was scared to death that day with all the unfamiliarity and anxiousness. Even today I cannot remember what the topic was, all I can remember was berating myself for not learning cursive and not knowing how to count 2500 words. Tough luck, kid. At the end, when they were announcing the top nine winners, I could remember sitting stiffly and thinking how happy I would be if I won the ninth position. I dared not hope higher when I knew nothing about writing. I was so disappointed when I never heard my name that I stopped listening at the sixth placer. But I remembering tensing further when my classmate, who was also in the competition for illustration, started shaking me and shrieking, "You won! You won!" I stared at her perplexedly and asked her what I won, to which she replied, "They called your name! You won the first place!" Imagine that. I was thankful that I made in to the stage without passing out.
Later that week the winners from my school were told that we were going to another competition. I was ecstatic that I dared to hope. I wanted to win again. I've never been good at anything before that when I got my first trophy, I thought I could do it again. Of course, I wasn't able to win again and I wasn't able to go to the competition. I wanted so badly to cry but it hurt so much to even try, so I just pushed to bitter experience to the back of my mind. Pain burns so much like acid and disappointment is like a crushing blow. I never attempted to write again after that. It was too painful and raw.
And now, I am back to dreaming. I'm back to hoping that this time I'll be accepted into that program and I'll be graduating as a nurse in two years. I wish. Do I dare to put my heart on a platter and hope that it won't be crushed? The only reason I've stopped wanting things is because disappointment requires too much emotion. And that is why this blog's header is Bombeck's quote. I've stopped dreaming long ago, the moment I knew that apathy was safer was the moment I stopped caring. I no longer desired for my family to be together, I no longer dreamed of greatness, and I no longer wanted. I stopped being a child and went off into the world of adult skepticism and pessimism. But once more, I will hope. I will hope for my future that I will be accepted to their program and finally start my way to nursing. Just once more, I will dream and not be tainted by the doubt of disappointment.
March 16, 2009
Playing Hooky...
I finally get a break, in a form of the academic Spring Break. I feel ambivalent though since I'm still thinking of the many things I need to do, like my Utopia outline, my Statistics homework, my Pathophysiology case studies and notes, and my World Religion worksheets, and oh, start my research for my Health Care Ethics presentation. It's not really a break, I say, when my brain is still working and fried. But beggars can't be choosers, I certainly am appreciative of the break of driving 34 miles everyday, of waking up before my alarm does, and of struggling with a parking space, and not to mention the familiarity of facing some of my zany professors. Yup, I am totally happy right now even with the workload.
I've been back to college for three months now. I've been handling the stress pretty well (are you sure?!) considering the fact that I have a full load. Famous last words, Kat (cue evil, maniacal laughter). The only thing more stressful than class requirements are people. I have met the most awesome, weirdest, world-record breaking, insane, dumb-founding, and memorable people this semester. Take my Patho professor, I've been complaining about her all semester. Maybe it's because she doesn't have PowerPoint or it could be the fact that she has time to have manicures twice a week but no time to change the erroneous exams she gives us. But it could just be the fact that people who took her last semester absolutely adore her, but I'm still waiting for that person to come to class. Mondays and Wednesdays are devoted to complaints against her. Maybe it's my pride that's bruised for getting Bs in her exams and not As.
And then there's my classmate in Patho, B. She's fifteen years my senior, one of the smartest persons I know, and one of the most interesting. It could be because she has experienced most of the diseases we've covered in class: Hemolytic anemia of the newborn, Jaundiced at birth, Constantly low blood pressure even with medication, hypovolemic shock, congenital heart problems, anaphylactic shock, and oh, she's allergic to 80% of the medication out there. That's what I call phenomenal. But it could also be because she's on counseling right now because her husband is a jerk. Case in point when he let their health insurance lapse, and when he constantly goes hiking when he should be job hunting, and when he should at least wash the dishes since he's the one at home. Makes me want to stay the heck away from marriage. Whatever the reason I find her fascinating we get along famously. Thick as thieves, as Lemony Snicket would say.
Another professor, my Buddhist World Religions teacher, makes me laugh. It could be because of the fact that she keeps saying she's a double capricorn and won't grow up, whatever that means. Or the fact that she disses all religions, even hers, but especially mine. Or maybe it's because she owns tons of cats, has myasthenia gravis, and keeps saying "I'm not ready for this" when it comes to our exams. She certainly is quirky, you have to admit a person who's willing to sabotage their jury duty is something.
Then there's Maria, of the Filipino-French-Vietnamese parentage. She's divorced, loves dancing, and is usually late for class. She's divorced because her ex-husband was pre-meditatively killing her. Isn't that obvious when your spouse lists down a number of ways to make you angry when he knows you have a heart problem, and then conveniently says, "I love you" afterwards in an attempt to soothe you? Or it could be the way he conveniently leaves a "Dear John" letter for her in his bag and dismissing it as "nothing." But then later you change jobs, change cellphone numbers, and refuse to leave a forwarding address. Charming.
There's tons more of people that make my list. And in their own way, make me laugh, cringe, gape in shock, roll my eyes, and just about see life in their eyes. Why the list? Well, they make me realize that everyone is a small person in the universe. All of us have our own little worlds but it all comes down to the fact that everyone living has stress, crappy spouses, insane professors, cats, and mounds of homework. It humbles me that I am not alone in my misery but with other people I can be free to laugh, cry, scream in frustration, and live.
So I'm playing hooky, with the knowledge that it's okay to just be sometimes.
I've been back to college for three months now. I've been handling the stress pretty well (are you sure?!) considering the fact that I have a full load. Famous last words, Kat (cue evil, maniacal laughter). The only thing more stressful than class requirements are people. I have met the most awesome, weirdest, world-record breaking, insane, dumb-founding, and memorable people this semester. Take my Patho professor, I've been complaining about her all semester. Maybe it's because she doesn't have PowerPoint or it could be the fact that she has time to have manicures twice a week but no time to change the erroneous exams she gives us. But it could just be the fact that people who took her last semester absolutely adore her, but I'm still waiting for that person to come to class. Mondays and Wednesdays are devoted to complaints against her. Maybe it's my pride that's bruised for getting Bs in her exams and not As.
And then there's my classmate in Patho, B. She's fifteen years my senior, one of the smartest persons I know, and one of the most interesting. It could be because she has experienced most of the diseases we've covered in class: Hemolytic anemia of the newborn, Jaundiced at birth, Constantly low blood pressure even with medication, hypovolemic shock, congenital heart problems, anaphylactic shock, and oh, she's allergic to 80% of the medication out there. That's what I call phenomenal. But it could also be because she's on counseling right now because her husband is a jerk. Case in point when he let their health insurance lapse, and when he constantly goes hiking when he should be job hunting, and when he should at least wash the dishes since he's the one at home. Makes me want to stay the heck away from marriage. Whatever the reason I find her fascinating we get along famously. Thick as thieves, as Lemony Snicket would say.
Another professor, my Buddhist World Religions teacher, makes me laugh. It could be because of the fact that she keeps saying she's a double capricorn and won't grow up, whatever that means. Or the fact that she disses all religions, even hers, but especially mine. Or maybe it's because she owns tons of cats, has myasthenia gravis, and keeps saying "I'm not ready for this" when it comes to our exams. She certainly is quirky, you have to admit a person who's willing to sabotage their jury duty is something.
Then there's Maria, of the Filipino-French-Vietnamese parentage. She's divorced, loves dancing, and is usually late for class. She's divorced because her ex-husband was pre-meditatively killing her. Isn't that obvious when your spouse lists down a number of ways to make you angry when he knows you have a heart problem, and then conveniently says, "I love you" afterwards in an attempt to soothe you? Or it could be the way he conveniently leaves a "Dear John" letter for her in his bag and dismissing it as "nothing." But then later you change jobs, change cellphone numbers, and refuse to leave a forwarding address. Charming.
There's tons more of people that make my list. And in their own way, make me laugh, cringe, gape in shock, roll my eyes, and just about see life in their eyes. Why the list? Well, they make me realize that everyone is a small person in the universe. All of us have our own little worlds but it all comes down to the fact that everyone living has stress, crappy spouses, insane professors, cats, and mounds of homework. It humbles me that I am not alone in my misery but with other people I can be free to laugh, cry, scream in frustration, and live.
So I'm playing hooky, with the knowledge that it's okay to just be sometimes.
March 10, 2009
Always the Smart Ones
I bet her eyes widened as her brain digested what she just heard. I can imagine how they would hold that involuntary response for a second, and then she would blink. But her mouth would be slightly opened as she would form the words, "What? What happened?"
I asked her how she felt. Sad. Yes, I was too. But then she says, "So, nice weather we're having." And all I could do was laugh while we proceeded making small talk to hastily change the subject. There we were on the phone discussing cows on the freeway, brunch, how Twilight sucks, and the distinction between cliff diving and cliff jumping. All the while in the backs of our mind contemplating how it isn't really funny, and we shouldn't really be laughing. It was inappropriate after all.
"We need to talk. I need to talk to you," was what my Mom first said when she opened their bedroom door. And I could tell it was going to be a serious discussion. And in a habitual childhood-borne reflex, I started thinking of what I could have possibly done wrong in the past couple of days, and then weeks, that warranted that serious tone of voice, and that grave facial expression.
My mom started with chitchat. She explained why she didn't think visiting my cousins would be a good choice, because she couldn't, no time, and all that. And then she explained why she wouldn't agree to my desire of buying a smaller cupcake pan, because it wouldn't be fair for everyone. I understood, I explained that I figured that out. It's fine, I'll get over it. "It just makes me feel bad when you make that face, I feel like it's my fault." It's not, Mom, it's normal that I'll be sad. But I get over it.
What is this about? I was asking mentally because we don't normally do this, we do, but not over trivial matters of vacation or cupcake pans. So I asked, "Is that all?" And not surprisingly the answer is No. The next thing she tells me makes me frown, raise my eyebrow, take a breath, and laugh. Maybe that was inappropriate as well. But I did not mean to be disrespectful in light of having someone I loved try to cheat life and fail.
It made me both mad and sad that she did that. I was mad at myself because she felt she couldn't approach me at any time. I was mad that she bottled it all up and used a bottle to end it all as well. I was sad because she's only fourteen, and in the two years I've been with her I didn't see it coming. Or maybe I did and it pisses me off because I chose not to see it. I was sad because it shouldn't have come down to that and she shouldn't have felt the need to do that.
What do I tell her? Do I ask her why? Do I pretend that it's okay and say everything will be fine? Do I tell her honestly that what she did was crap and that she should have thought of her family? Of her younger siblings who looked up to her? I could say that the worst thing I've heard is someone saying they're giving up on life. It makes me feel like there's nothing worthy enough for you to stick around here until the end. It makes me feel so angry because there are hundreds and thousands of babies being born everyday that don't even survive to take their first breath. And it makes me sad because no one should choose that option ever.
We all have our pain, we're all broken, and we're all human. And if you think that life sucks, then welcome to the real world. Because in this world your younger sisters will be affected and scarred by that all their life. The youngest might not even know what happened but your younger sister, well, you probably broke her heart. This might sound spiteful, it might offend you, that I'm ranting at you when you're in a frail and delicate situation. But you should at least think about the fact that I care enough to be angry, I care enough to be mad at you. You have so much going for you, you're smart, you have a great sense of humor, you're highly intelligent, you have a great family, and you don't have body odor. I hope you realize that life doesn't have to be perfect for you to be happy. Life is pain, but it is a gift. Life is a choice and in all things you have a choice. The only thing you don't have a choice over is death. But when the time comes for that, I hope you can honestly say you don't have regrets on how you lived.
I asked her how she felt. Sad. Yes, I was too. But then she says, "So, nice weather we're having." And all I could do was laugh while we proceeded making small talk to hastily change the subject. There we were on the phone discussing cows on the freeway, brunch, how Twilight sucks, and the distinction between cliff diving and cliff jumping. All the while in the backs of our mind contemplating how it isn't really funny, and we shouldn't really be laughing. It was inappropriate after all.
"We need to talk. I need to talk to you," was what my Mom first said when she opened their bedroom door. And I could tell it was going to be a serious discussion. And in a habitual childhood-borne reflex, I started thinking of what I could have possibly done wrong in the past couple of days, and then weeks, that warranted that serious tone of voice, and that grave facial expression.
My mom started with chitchat. She explained why she didn't think visiting my cousins would be a good choice, because she couldn't, no time, and all that. And then she explained why she wouldn't agree to my desire of buying a smaller cupcake pan, because it wouldn't be fair for everyone. I understood, I explained that I figured that out. It's fine, I'll get over it. "It just makes me feel bad when you make that face, I feel like it's my fault." It's not, Mom, it's normal that I'll be sad. But I get over it.
What is this about? I was asking mentally because we don't normally do this, we do, but not over trivial matters of vacation or cupcake pans. So I asked, "Is that all?" And not surprisingly the answer is No. The next thing she tells me makes me frown, raise my eyebrow, take a breath, and laugh. Maybe that was inappropriate as well. But I did not mean to be disrespectful in light of having someone I loved try to cheat life and fail.
It made me both mad and sad that she did that. I was mad at myself because she felt she couldn't approach me at any time. I was mad that she bottled it all up and used a bottle to end it all as well. I was sad because she's only fourteen, and in the two years I've been with her I didn't see it coming. Or maybe I did and it pisses me off because I chose not to see it. I was sad because it shouldn't have come down to that and she shouldn't have felt the need to do that.
What do I tell her? Do I ask her why? Do I pretend that it's okay and say everything will be fine? Do I tell her honestly that what she did was crap and that she should have thought of her family? Of her younger siblings who looked up to her? I could say that the worst thing I've heard is someone saying they're giving up on life. It makes me feel like there's nothing worthy enough for you to stick around here until the end. It makes me feel so angry because there are hundreds and thousands of babies being born everyday that don't even survive to take their first breath. And it makes me sad because no one should choose that option ever.
We all have our pain, we're all broken, and we're all human. And if you think that life sucks, then welcome to the real world. Because in this world your younger sisters will be affected and scarred by that all their life. The youngest might not even know what happened but your younger sister, well, you probably broke her heart. This might sound spiteful, it might offend you, that I'm ranting at you when you're in a frail and delicate situation. But you should at least think about the fact that I care enough to be angry, I care enough to be mad at you. You have so much going for you, you're smart, you have a great sense of humor, you're highly intelligent, you have a great family, and you don't have body odor. I hope you realize that life doesn't have to be perfect for you to be happy. Life is pain, but it is a gift. Life is a choice and in all things you have a choice. The only thing you don't have a choice over is death. But when the time comes for that, I hope you can honestly say you don't have regrets on how you lived.
February 09, 2009
Holding On to the Dead
Forgiveness is the act of releasing or letting go of what you hold against someone. It reminds me of the anime Cardcaptor Sakura, when Sakura chants a spell, swings her wand forward, and shouts "Release," and the Clow Card would become effective in its natural state of power. I guess. So here I am, ready to exorcise you from my scarred soul into your natural state.
I forgive you for how you laughed at me at the wrong times: when you hit my head hard with that golf club, accidentally, when I fell down the stairs chasing after you, and when you again, accidentally, closed the car door while I was getting out behind you. That really hurt, by the way.
I forgive you for locking me out of the apartment because you just felt like it, and how you chased me in the room with a belt when I refused to obey you. I was so scared of you that time that I took hours staying in the bathroom. I forgive you for refusing to give me my allowance and having me starve. I was really angry and mad at that. I hated you for that.
I forgive you for using me as an experiment in your sadistic games. For when you nightly pricked my finger with a blood sugar testing kit because you thought it was fun. It was probably for you, but you made me cry myself to sleep every night. And that time you deliberately electrocuted me when I said no. That really wasn't funny.
I forgive you for gambling away the Ipod I gave you. Again, that stung. I felt like you didn't really care about me, that I was disposable to you. I forgive you for always asking me to buy you stuff, and you conveniently never asking me back what I wanted. It's not that a big of a deal, but I know you're a nice guy, maybe not just to me.
I forgive you for when you forgot that you have a temper and had me on the receiving end even when none of it was my fault. I forgive you for never apologizing on your own, you always had to be prodded by Mama and Papa. I forgive you for breaking my heart. I forgive you for being such a sucky big brother. I forgive you for even having me do this, for making me hate you unwittingly. I forgive you for making me hate guys, I just looked up to you for so long and then realized you didn't love me.
I really hated you, do you know that? You made my childhood miserable. You made me feel so small, defenseless, and you laughed instead of apologizing. I don't care that Mama likes you more, I understand that, but I dislike the fact that you got away on tormenting me. Disillusionment sucks so much.
I'm sorry if I became the baby in the family, I know you liked that spot. But you see, you're our only favorite brother, that's your role. I'm sorry if I screamed at you when you teased me many times before. Believe me, you're the only one who riles me to the point of anger management mandate. I'm sorry if I made fun of you unknowingly, or when I hurt your feelings. I'm sorry if I cramped your style, when you had to go with me when you wanted to go with your friends. I'm sorry for only having time for good times and forgetting to ask you how you were, we don't really know each other.
I'm sorry for clinging to you like a leech, I wanted a friend because I was alone. Maybe you needed a friend too, but I was so busy being selfish. I'm sorry for not being a good younger sister, I know I can be a pain. I'm sorry for the times I wasn't there for you, I'm here if you need someone. And I'm sorry for not loving you as I should. I do love you, I just forgot underneath all my hatred. You're still my favorite brother.
I forgive you for how you laughed at me at the wrong times: when you hit my head hard with that golf club, accidentally, when I fell down the stairs chasing after you, and when you again, accidentally, closed the car door while I was getting out behind you. That really hurt, by the way.
I forgive you for locking me out of the apartment because you just felt like it, and how you chased me in the room with a belt when I refused to obey you. I was so scared of you that time that I took hours staying in the bathroom. I forgive you for refusing to give me my allowance and having me starve. I was really angry and mad at that. I hated you for that.
I forgive you for using me as an experiment in your sadistic games. For when you nightly pricked my finger with a blood sugar testing kit because you thought it was fun. It was probably for you, but you made me cry myself to sleep every night. And that time you deliberately electrocuted me when I said no. That really wasn't funny.
I forgive you for gambling away the Ipod I gave you. Again, that stung. I felt like you didn't really care about me, that I was disposable to you. I forgive you for always asking me to buy you stuff, and you conveniently never asking me back what I wanted. It's not that a big of a deal, but I know you're a nice guy, maybe not just to me.
I forgive you for when you forgot that you have a temper and had me on the receiving end even when none of it was my fault. I forgive you for never apologizing on your own, you always had to be prodded by Mama and Papa. I forgive you for breaking my heart. I forgive you for being such a sucky big brother. I forgive you for even having me do this, for making me hate you unwittingly. I forgive you for making me hate guys, I just looked up to you for so long and then realized you didn't love me.
I really hated you, do you know that? You made my childhood miserable. You made me feel so small, defenseless, and you laughed instead of apologizing. I don't care that Mama likes you more, I understand that, but I dislike the fact that you got away on tormenting me. Disillusionment sucks so much.
I'm sorry if I became the baby in the family, I know you liked that spot. But you see, you're our only favorite brother, that's your role. I'm sorry if I screamed at you when you teased me many times before. Believe me, you're the only one who riles me to the point of anger management mandate. I'm sorry if I made fun of you unknowingly, or when I hurt your feelings. I'm sorry if I cramped your style, when you had to go with me when you wanted to go with your friends. I'm sorry for only having time for good times and forgetting to ask you how you were, we don't really know each other.
I'm sorry for clinging to you like a leech, I wanted a friend because I was alone. Maybe you needed a friend too, but I was so busy being selfish. I'm sorry for not being a good younger sister, I know I can be a pain. I'm sorry for the times I wasn't there for you, I'm here if you need someone. And I'm sorry for not loving you as I should. I do love you, I just forgot underneath all my hatred. You're still my favorite brother.
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