i see a slurred mirror image before me.


my younger sister is ten this year. primary four.

another scolding from my mother to both of us. perhaps it has been so routine to me it does not affect me much. or only a little, a little that i do not sense in myself. however, that is not the point.

the scolding came as another one of those many harshly spoken ones that was unworthy of our wrong doings, really. i do believe i am old enough to gauge. although i know they come because of her concern for us- somewhere far inside her heart, but believe me when i say the sharpness of her tone and knife sharp words do not reflect it.

my younger sister was scolded because she got impatient with me and yelled at me to take my clothes for the next day before she can put down her mattress, when she hasnt done what she was supposed to do. i yelled back, and my mother's attention was drawn.

so while teaching my younger brother she scolds my sister with her fiery tone and words that cut, as usual. at some point it turns unreasonable, she scolds my sister because apparently her expression was one of "pretending to be innocent". this is not surprising, esp when she teaches my brother and her patience is tittering dangerously on the edge. and she teaches my brother every night. and of course, her words cut. my sister remains quiet.


later, shortly receiving my share of the scolding, when i step into our bedroom i see my sister lying stomach down on her mattress, her face facing the wall, her expression unreadable. she does not move as i open the door and step in, not caring about who came in, not even a glance.

i stare at her as i pretend to continue to do what i came into the room to do, as she pretends she doesnt care who came in. or perhaps she truly doesnt. but as i stare
at her back i know she cries silent tears that flow from the ache inside, of never being understood, of helplessness to even shield from those piercing words.

silent tears that are "forbidden", that cannot be seen. to cry during a scolding, or after a scolding is giving the chance to be mocked, and hurt even deeper.


tears the must drip to the sheets at night and in the morning cannot be seen. tears that one must never admit to. pain that one must never show, and accept everything pushed to you, and carry on.

when will she reach her breaking point? i remember the first time i mustered the courage to answer back my mother, instead of listening and never being able to talk. listen, listen and listen. and one day i grew so angry i let it out in one weak, but sweet nevertheless, conquer. when i was ten. primary 4. on november 11th.

of course, nothing went well after that. and i became angier, colder, more withdrawn, and now i have gotten into a habit of not caring. but because of God it does not come so hard, and the hurts in the past i have let go.. and is trying to care, trying to understand.

but will she become like me? i really hope not.. but already i see a shadow of that..withdrawal syndrome. a once bubbly sunny girl turning into a tinted dark shadow, mysterious, unreadable, escaping notice to the best of her abilities, to escape hurting cuts of words. words under the name of scolding; under the initally good natured motive of care, love and concern.

i'll not put all the blame onto my mom, although more often then not i am tempted to. she did it out of love, afterall. love i still cannot comprehend, sometimes.

when will her breaking point come?

when will the mirror image of my past clear before me?