This is a piece of autobiographical fiction. Space and time have been rearranged to suit the convenience of the book, and with the exception of public figures, any resemblance to persons living or dead is coincidental. The opinions expressed are those of the characters and should not be confused with the author’s.
This story is written as an example to anyone who wants to believe that we are more than the patriarchy deems us to be, more than our limitations, and more than our fears.
Jane at 9 years old
I hate my brother.
I don’t understand why everyone loves him so much.
The other day when we met some of mummy’s friends, they kept fussing around him. They said that he was very good looking and handsome but they didn’t say anything about me. They just looked at me and then looked back and Jerome.
Mummy is always taking care of Jerome. I don’t remember her ever holding or hugging or kissing me. Why is it that Mummy loves Jerome more than she loves me?
When I was younger, mummy and daddy always go to work so early. Nobody wake me up to say goodbye to me. I remember waking up in fear and running to their room, but their bed would be empty. Then I would sit at the door and cry and cry and cry – but nobody came back. Even after they come home, they have to look after Jerome.
All they want to talk about with me is whether I am doing well in school. I always do well, so they don’t ask me anything else.
When we go rollerblading, I always show them my tricks but they just look at me for a while only. After that, they still go back to look after Jerome.
I hate Jerome. I wish I had a sister instead. I always make him play barbie dolls with me but he always want to play with cars instead. Actually, I don’t even like barbie dolls but Daddy bought it for me. I want to read books instead but Jerome cannot read books yet so I cannot read with him.
I miss the times when my brother was younger. I remember I would climb into his baby cot and lie there with him. I would pat him to sleep and when he woke up, I would teach him out to climb out of the baby cot.
We would run around the house and use our bolsters as ‘horses’. We would gallop all around the house. Daddy and mummy would put me on the coffee table and I would sing Celine Dion songs for them. Jerome used to love watching me sing.
But those happy times don’t happen anymore. I miss those times.
I’m sorry God, I shouldn’t have said that I hate my brother. I actually really love him alot. I’m sorry God. I don’t want to hate anyone. I only want to love them. I just feel so sad that no one cares about me.
It took me a while through therapy, to realize that my adult problems were manifested from emotional neglect when I was younger. It wasn’t anyones fault but at the same time, I hadn’t realized the neglect I felt as a child affected me so much.
It made me become a people pleaser.
I became my false self.