Christian Stories: Love I

I hated her. 

My blood sister - I mean, my immediate younger sister. She was everything I detested in my life. She was everything I wasn't. She was everything I wish I could be but I couldn't and so, I detested her. 

I told my students months ago that there was a time I took nails to puncture my sister’s face on every pictures we had together from childhood.

Yes, I did it. Every picture of us in kindergarten and primary were all changed by me. If there was no nail around, I would use a pen to draw some nonsense on her face just so that her face would not show, and after every "hard work", I felt satisfied - satisfaction that my face was the only thing showing in the picture.

I once burnt her arm when she was sleeping. It may sound too wicked that a girl of eight years old would be so mean to her own blood, but the question is, what do you know?

She was sleeping that night and my mother asked me to wake her so that she could eat. It was during the period when the electricity company decided to show their authority by putting the whole street in darkness.

I carried the lantern which was the source of light and made my way to the bedroom where my sister was peacefully sleeping and instead of tapping her, I placed the hot part of the lantern on her arm which made her jerk up in fear. 

I scurried outside after murmuring my message and no, I wasn't remorseful.

Let me even tell you the time I almost cut her hair when she was sleeping. Or no, I'd rather not. 

I didn't want to do any of these. 

My sister was everything I wasn't. She was everything I wanted to be which I couldn't no matter how hard I tried. 

Chubby, beautiful, long dark hair, gifted, fit and she looked her age. She was looking like a normal seven years old girl.

I, on the other hand was everything she wasn't. Exceptionally slim, my beauty grade was four, weak short hair, gifted and I looked like a sickler so, I definitely didn't look like a normal nine years old girl. 

The only evidence that I wasn't a sickler was my genotype test results stored in my wardrobe. It was the only evidence I could show to anyone who asked me embarrassing questions. I looked sick even though I wasn't sick. 

The questions got to me. The taunts and jeers even from close family hit my nerves and so many times, my prayer point was "God, I want to be fat."

Imagine someone standing beside you in church during prayers and you mistakenly hear his/her prayer point that the only thing she was praying for was to be fat. Imagine that scene in your mind. 

I hated my sister because of that. Because of all of these. Why couldn't I be fat too? Why couldn't I be beautiful like her? Why couldn't I have long dark hair? Why did I have to look sick? 

To comfort myself, I started imitating everything my sister was doing. I started eating the same portion of rice she ate, I started drinking the quantity of water she drank, I even had to start eating onions, something I hated so much in food. I was doing everything to be like her. Just to be like her. 

But you know what? It didn't work. 

I will give you the rest of the story later - how I came to learn to accept some things, how I learnt love, and particularly, how I learnt to love my sister. And how God made me understand what love is.

We hope you’re looking forward to the next episode of the Love Series. If you’re just reading this story for the first time, please note that this is the first part of the series. You can simply click here to read the second  episode of this story in the Love Series and follow through from there. You can also check Mobolaji Titilope’s author profile here to read other interesting articles and related content by the author.