When does the heart forget? When does the heart forgive?

I woke up one day. Sitting on the bed that was not my bed. My own room. And I realized that something was missing from my life? Throwing caution to the wind, I left my parent's home, angry, full of angst, wanting to escape the perceived controlling force of Mother and Father.

In the middle of the night, I packed all of my belongings and headed to live at Aunt C.'s house. Single and someone who used to be my role model, I was glad she decided to let me live in her home. Of course, she laid down the rules, you must pay me rent (about $600/month - she had just refinanced her home) and help with the utilities too. Excited that I would be "on my own," I verily agreed and despite Father's curse that I not succeed in life, I left without looking back.

The honeymoon period started. I had my own room. My own space (sort of). I could come and go without being questioned. Yet, it was lonely sometimes. And soon, I hated living there. Soon Aunt C. asked me to move out. Sorry, she said, I want to expand the business (which I told her I didn't want to pursue anymore) and need to turn your room into an office space. Shocked, I could only nod. You have until September, she said, and I'll need you to go.

I was between jobs then, unhappy with my receptionish job at a major bank downtown, I quit in the hopes of finding something new, more challenging. Being told to move out only heightened my sense of loss. I couldn't figure out why this woman, whom I had idolized, suddenly appeared petty, selfish to me. Of course, looking back, I realize perhaps she was having identity crisis issues of her own. But her declaration that I must move and pay her back my 2-months of rent (which I couldn't pay because I had no job), struck me in the oddest since. The words my parents said to me came back, rushing, unwanted. Only your parents will love you more than anyone else. More than even your siblings. More than even the people who claim to love you.

I didn't want to return home. It would mean defeat. That my parents were right. That Father's curse came true. That I had failed. That I would not succeed. So I engaged Monica in conversations - what can I do? As the older sister, she was supposed to protect me. Unbeknownst to me, while she invited me to live in her home - a home she shared with her husband of almost a decade, a husband whom I did not like very much, nor respect very much, and who was supposedly a God-fearing man - she had already invited Eliza to live with her. Eliza was younger than me by 1 and 1/2 years. We were as opposite as sun and moon. I don't recall not ever having been in a good relationship with her.

To my surprise, when I was moved in, they jointly announced that Eliza was also going to move in. Since Monica only had a single spare room, we would have to share the room. Horrified (as years past demonstrated we were not a good fit), I firmly disagreed with them. But I was overruled. And Eliza made plans to move from our parents' home to Monica's house. Angry and feeling betrayed, I turned to God. I asked God, is this what happens when I disobey my parents? When I purposely make them angry? And as bird suddenly flew to hit the side passenger door (causing a small dent in the new car - barely 1 years old), I realized it was a sign. A sign that I needed to apologize and ask forgiveness from Mother and Father. And so, the very next morning, I woke up and headed straight to my home. I cried. I was incoherent. But my parents understood and forgave me. Father took back the curse he had angrily shouted at me. All was well. Almost.

Unhappily, I confided in Mother and Father about the troubles brewing among the trio of sisters. As parents, they sought to bring their daughters together to resolve the problem, but Monica was outraged that I had involved the parents. You are such a baby, she sneered. Always going to Mom and Dad to help solve your problems. She told Mother and Father she didn't want me. So, I moved back into my home, while Eliza moved into Monica's despite my parents' vehement objections.

People talk. People gossip. And that is why Mother and Father didn't want me to live with Aunt C. and why they didn't want us to live with Monica and her husband. The community is unforgiving. Why can't they take care of their own children? They whisper at the local market. Why, it's a shame that their unmarried daughter is living with their married daughter and her husband. The leaves continue to weave its way in the wind. There is no stopping it unless one crushes it. And even then, the tiny fragments of the leaves seep into the ground and join the million secrets that abound around us. And it spreads, whether we want it to or not.

Not long after the move, there were several fiascos. I'm not the best person - not patient, hot headed, short tempered, and honey does not flow from my lips. Funny. I don't recally exactly what caused Monica to be so angry, at me, at Mother and Father. What caused her husband to hate us so. To tell Mother that everything was my fault - that he and Monica could never forgive me. And for what? I do not recall. How petty. How pitiful that they have chosen this path. Especially since they are the virtuous ones in their Baptist church. He's a pastor and yet his heart lies, his lips lies, his words lie, and he cannot forgive. Funny - it's always those who are most eager to spread the love of God who cannot see beyond the fabrication of lies they've woven around themselves, who cannot see their own faults and who places blame on others.

I no longer wish to be their sister anymore. I used to cry about it. The fact that Eliza also took Monica's side. The fact that Bibo does not stand up for me. It hurted. It hurts. And I have decided that I should not care anymore. That I should not cry. They are not worth tears that are better served to cry for those who deserve my tears and anguish.

How do people change? How can people come to an understanding?

I am oftentimes embarrassed by the fact that I am now the black sheep of the family. It's just me, Mother and Father. I don't yet know where Bibo and Baby stand. Perhaps they too will say I am a bad sister. They too will hate me? I wonder, would they cry at my funeral? I don't even know if I'd want them there. I'd only want the people who cared about me in my later life to be there to see me off to my next life.

There is nothing but me and this blog. I cannot confide completely and with utter abandonment with even my best friend. I don't know if she'd understand my situation. She has a wonderful family - it seems. I've seen them and heard them interact, and it differs vastly from my broken family - full of lies, deceit, backstabbing, and conceitedness.

How can I change for the better? I want to be more patient. I want to laugh more. I want to learn to speak like Mother. I want to be more kind. I want to be more than anyone ever expected of me. I want to accompish great things. I want to move the world. I want to place my stamp on the lives of normal men and women. I want....

Yet I am here. Typing away on my laptop. Wishing and dreaming. Lamenting and saddened by a hope of a happy, loving family. I laugh too, because I remember lying to my ex-date. I'm no longer going out because I have no time (which is partly true). But the truth is, I cannot be completely truthful with them. I want ... need to protect my family and I cannot give away even a part of me that needs to be there for Mother, Father, Bibo, and Baby. And so I cannot image a life of matrimony with someone else. Someone else, who I would need to give a part of myself away to, too. So it's better if I remain single, with Mother and Father. I'm the only one to care for them now. If I leave, what would happen to them? It would forever brandish me with guilt, should I leave to find that they're no longer here anymore. Like Grandmother. I never told her I loved her. I never told my parents I loved them. I hope to one day.