Yesterday while I was having coffee with my friends, a woman approached me. It was my sister. The other sister. The one who ruined my life, the one who was the anchor that brought my family down, the one that drove my mother to manic depression (my mother sank so low we couldn't do anything), the source of my misery, the one whom my father disowned, the jezebel, the bad mother, the back-stabbing sister... I haven't seen her for quite a while. For years after she left the house, we hardly keep in touch. I hated her for constantly getting into trouble, for ruining this institution once we had called 'family'. We only talked briefly yesterday, probably both of us were trying to avoid the awkwardness of seeing each other again.
After she left, I couldn't hold back my tears (Thank you Farra & Fahmi for the comfort). For many years she has been nothing but trouble and I hated her with all my guts. But I couldn't stop crying. At one point, as I watch her walk away, I could not help but worry about her, wondering if her life is any better now without us. I guess I still have the soft spot for her. After all, she is still my sister. For all the pain she has caused, she will always be my sister. Life is like that isn't it? You may say you hate your mother, or your father, your brother etc. but in the end you are always willing to forgive. Maybe not forget, but the chance of forgiveness is always there. Maybe you'll still hate them, but there will always be a tiny room in your heart for them… Even if you hate to admit it.
