From a very young age, I knew I was not liked in this family.
When Mom came back from shopping, she brought two cakes and handed them to my younger brother Matthew and my elder sister Joyce. Before she could leave, I stopped her and said, “Mommy, don’t you have something for me too?”
“You want one too?” Mom frowned and said impatiently, “They’re expensive. I don’t have enough money on me to cover yours.”
I was only four, but I could sense the nuances of other people’s emotions, especially when that person was my own mother.
And now.
At my sister’s birthday party, after Mom exchanged meaningless small talk with some friends, she moved to a corner and turned her back, repeatedly dialing my number.
No one answered.
By the fourth call, she was met with a busy signal. She stared at the phone in disbelief, her eyes wide: “Rosie, I’m your mother!”
Matthew walked over and patted her on the back soothingly. “Mom, don’t be angry. It’s not worth it for Rosie. Don’t you know by now? That’s just how she is.”
Mom’s anger and frustration found an outlet through her youngest son, the one she cherished most.
“You three children, I put the most effort into Rosie. When she was born, she was a twin, and even the doctor said she took all the nutrients meant for your brother to survive…”
This was a story I had heard her repeat countless times from childhood to now. It always ended with me being punished, facing the wall to reflect on myself, while they all went out to visit the park.
“Don’t be mad, Mom. Don’t worry. I’ll drag her back if I have to.”
Matthew comforted Mom and then sent me a flurry of text messages.
“Rosie, you’d better show up within half an hour.”
“Are you really so selfish that you would make Mom’s heart worse just to hold onto a grudge?”
“Is a man worth holding a grudge for this long, especially when Joyce is also your sister?”
After sending that message, his fingers hovered over the phone for a few seconds before he put it away and turned to help greet the guests.
Yes, even he didn't believe it that Joyce was his good sister, my parents' good daughter. How could she ever have the right to be my sister?
