“It’s because I’m adopted isn’t it??? You don’t love me! You never did!!!” and with that my sister ran out of the house.
She didn’t come home that night. Mom and Dad called all her friends and looked everywhere for her. It was almost morning when a call came. It was Aunt Lynne. Dina just arrived at her home, via night bus.
Two days later Dina came back home. Aunt Lynne came with her. Mom, Dad, Aunt Lynne and Dina had a long talk while I was sent to a friend’s house to ‘play’. To not hear anything was more like it, but of course I didn’t know it then. After that everything went back to normal.
Dina was three years older than me. I thought she was the coolest big sister in the world. She had so many friends; the cool kind, not the geekish kind like me and my friends. She was always top of her class. At the end of every school year she took home a small present from school; I never did that. Not even once. She was a basketball captain at school; I couldn’t run further than 10 meters without stumbling on something and falling on my face. The funny thing was, she hated me.
“Sis, can I borrow your new Tin Tin?”
“No. Get your own. And stop snooping around in my room.”
“But, Sis. I promise I’ll take good care of it. I’ll return it tomorrow.”
“No. N-O. Stop whining. Not going to work. Now, scram. Go. Leave.”
“Mooooooom… Sis wouldn’t let me borrow her storybook.”
“Dina, share your book with your sister.”
Dina throw daggers at me with her eyes and snorted.
“Moooooooooooom…”
Dina stomped out of the room.
Ok, so I played a part in making her hate me. I was a crybaby. I never helped her do the dishes. Or mop the floor. I got easier tasks like cooking rice (with a rice-cooker) and watering the plants.
When I was about seven and we were walking home from school she opened up.
“You don’t understand,” she said. “I was the favorite before you came. Mom and Dad never scolded me, never asked me to do the dishes and stuff. After you, everything changed. That’s why I hate you,” she explained.
I nodded as if I had understood.
“You see, it’s because I’m an adopted child,” she continued.
I gasped. My eyes were big as saucers.
“I was adopted so that another baby would come. It’s an old custom, you know.”
My sister was so wise. I nodded again and imagined babies falling out of the sky one by one, like rain drops, in diapers. I believed that was how babies arrive into this world.
“I thought it’s because I’m the youngest,” I suggested shyly.
“You’re wrong!” Dina growled. “Don’t you know anything?”
“Sis..”
“What, Knucklehead?”
“What does ‘adopted’ mean?”
She mumbled “stupid girl” under her breath and sighed, like she couldn’t believe anybody could be so stupid.
So life went on. Me, following my sister like a shadow. She, trying her best to escape. Me, wanting everything she had. She, wanting to trade place with me, which was very silly, since I was such a geek.
One day, when I was about fourteen, Mom looked very upset.
“Aunty Lynne is ill,” she said.
Aunty Lynne was one of my many aunties. I didn’t really know how we were related, since she wasn’t Mom’s sister or Dad’s sister. I didn’t really care. She was my favorite aunt. We just clicked. I felt close to her even though she lived in another town. So I was really upset about her being sick. It had to be serious because Mom looked so worried.
We planned to visit her, but she passed away before our family could arrange the trip. By the time we arrived, Aunt Lynne had already been buried. Her house was empty. Aunt Lynne never got married and had lived by herself.
The breeze blew gently through the open windows and the curtains danced. The bamboo wind chime sang a lonely song. I could feel my aunt’s presence in the living room and kitchen, in her bedroom, in the orchid garden, among her old books, in her favorite paintings.
How lonely she must have been, and how sad to suffer alone, I thought. I felt so sorry for her I began to cry. Mom and Dina began to cry too, and even Dad sniffled a bit.
When we got home Mom gave a small carton box to me.
“Aunt Lynne left this for you,” she said.
It was full of photos of Aunt Lynne when she was young. She had many friends. She looked happy and carefree. There were photos of my family too, and of me.
Years passed. My sister never ran away again. As I grew bigger my parents gave me more tasks and duties. This seemed to make Dina happy enough. She didn’t treat me like a pest anymore. We always went out together, until she got a boyfriend. After that it’s always Reza this and Reza that. But I’m not a little kid anymore. I have my own friends to go out with.
And now I’m getting ready to go to university. It’s a bit far from our home so I’m going to stay in a boarding home near the campus.
While packing up my things, I find the carton box from Aunt Lynne. I sit down among piles of clothes and junk and look through the photos, all yellowed now. They bring back a lot of happy memories.
There is a close up photo of a teenage Aunt Lynne. She looks so familiar. I look at it for a long time, wondering who she looks like. Frozen hands of realization crept towards my heart and clutch it so hard I couldn’t breathe. I reach for the mirror with trembling hands. I hold the photo and the mirror side by side, and tears rolled down my face.
I run out of the room to find Mom and Dad in the living room.
“Tania, what’s wrong? What is it, dear?”
There are so many things I want to say to my parents but all I can do is hold them very very tightly. I feel very sad that I had such a short time with my real mother. Real? That doesn’t sound right. My parents are very real to me. I have been blessed to have parents who are as loving and kind to me as Mom and Dad.
My sister was wrong. She isn’t the adopted child − I am. She must have overheard some irresponsible relatives talking about me and had misunderstood. Mom and Dad love us both equally. And I was right, I got the easier tasks because I was the youngest.
