I have spoken harshly to my younger sister in a fit of anger, but now I feel a little guilty about it.
It all started when my older sister showed me a video of the younger witch flaunting her body in an elaborate way, where she leans against the hood of a car, the camera angled at a low position to focus on her thighs as she flexes her round arse tightly wrapped in a ridiculously short nude dress. Then the camera pans slowly up towards her torso, where she flips her hair in slow motion as she turns around to look at the camera with that calculated smile of hers meant to attract the audience. She then does other scenes in the same "cinematic" fashion, like she's some kind of influencer or model showcasing the dress she's wearing.
"Why does she do this?" older sis muttered, her voice heavy with scorn. I said nothing but completely understood her disdain. That younger sibling of ours is completely broke and drowning in debt, and older sis hates it most when she parades herself like some kind of girl who lives a luxurious lifestyle on social media, especially since it is the older sibling who funds her the most when she comes begging for money, giving promises to pay it back, and by promises, I mean promises that are as empty as her bank account. To begin with, the car isn't even hers; it's just one of the vehicles renting a space in the huge parking area of the house she lives in, whose dues, by the way, she hasn't paid for in over a year. We used to live there together, all three of us, but now it's just her and her boyfriend. But even when I no longer reside in the room upstairs, I still continually pay for it because it's still my room.
I usually never minded her shenanigans on social media because this is how social media works. People tend to portray an idealised version of themselves. But then a stark realisation hit me.
"What the fuck..." I started, recognising the garment the little bitch was wearing. "That's my dress," I remarked, slowly feeling my blood simmer. "What the hell? How could she do this to me? She totally stole that! Can you comment on her video that she fucking stole that dress? Ugh!"
I was beyond pissed. I loved that dress. It was one of the dresses I bought last year. It was small, delicate; the fabric hugged my body in all the right places. It’s one of the few pieces of clothing that actually fits perfectly, considering finding anything in XXS is like hunting for a unicorn. The rest of my wardrobe? They're close, but only that dress truly embraces my curves without making me feel like I’m being strangled. To add insult to injury, I've never even gone out in it yet. Even though I don't have a social life here and wouldn't be wearing that dress anytime soon, that dress was precious to me because it was mine, it was my perfect size, and despite it all, I was excited to wear it when the opportunity came. But now it's an island away from me, the fabric stretched out loose enough to even recognise the body it once belonged to, the form it was made for, because not only is the younger bitch taller, she's also a good deal bigger. She's ruined it, and I can't wear it anymore. And this pissed me off so much I could feel my blood boiling. I told her she was a fucking thief and too fat for that dress.
Her reaction? This bloody emoji "😆" and a half-assed apology: "I didn't know it was yours. Sorry hahahahaha."
Did she just... Did she just fucking laugh?
Because I was far from fucking amused. I hated how this all seemed funny to her, that it was a light matter only meant for chuckles. My fingers shook as I rapidly pressed letters on my phone. I wanted her to feel the gravity of how upset her robbery made me, and apparently, calling her a fat thief only induced amusement. So I snapped.
"You look like a cheap whore trying too hard to seem rich when your video screams garbage and is altogether disgusting to look at."
This, seemed to do the damage. She said I had crossed the line and that my words had struck below the belt. I do not feel the least bit remorseful for calling her fat. In truth, she is not; merely fuller in form, leaning toward the chubby side. After all, she has often ridiculed my own size even in the presence of others under the guise of "good humour". If she may jest at my expense, then why should I be expected to hold my tongue?
But it is not that remark which unsettles me. It's the "cheap whore" that gnaws at my guts. I feel, with some unease, that I may have gone too far. Indeed, I cannot shake the notion that there are limits, even in anger, and that I have overstepped them.
But then she added: "All that just for that dress?"
And that, my dear reader, only angered me all the more. Just for that dress? Just?! That dress was precious to me, and it was taken without my consent! Before she could say anything more, I blocked her.
This is not the first time I have blocked her on Messenger. I had done so earlier this year to sever the connection that allowed her never-ending financial favours to come forth. I was sick of her "borrowing" money, naming a date for the repayment, solemnly promising restitution, but when the day arrived, there was nothing. And when I inquired, it was always the same: the money went to another debt, the bills, this and that. A rehearsed litany of excuses, spoken with such ease after prolonged usage.
And what infuriates me most? She has a full-time job, one that pays well enough. My older sister, driven half-mad by this endless cycle, once spat, “Is she even working at all?” The venom in her voice was justified.
By blocking her, I had unwittingly left my older sister as the sole benefactor of the little leech. When, inevitably, the said leech came begging once more, my older sister—already incensed—turned to me. “Has she asked you for money?” she demanded.
Calmly, I told her, “No. I blocked her.”
“Why?”
"Because she keeps borrowing and never pays me back.”
My reason was completely understood, but it seemed to her unjust to be the sole sibling providing for the youngest when I happen to be also an older sister of the brat.
And so, I was forced to unblock the bitch, to once again open the door to this never-ending deception. There is no use in saying I “lend” her money anymore—she never repays, and when she does, it is in so-called installments, only to turn around and take more, as if the mere act of partial repayment entitled her to fresh debt.
But even before we had jobs, back in the city, whenever mom would give her the allowance for each of us, she'd take half of mine or sometimes all of it without my knowledge. I only found out about it when mother contacted me one time asking whether I received the allowance she sent meant for me, and I was shocked because I received nothing or only half or even much less of it. That's when I knew the bloody little wench had been ripping me off.
Though her theatrics of manipulation are transparent as glass, my older sister, for all her frustration, still couldn't have the heart to ignore her completely despite the strong desire to point-blank cut her off. Big sis feels, as burdensome as it is to her, bound by a sense of duty, a familial obligation. And so, despite knowing the game, she still finds herself ensnared by it. Like how the little witch would message her she hasn't eaten anything at all since last night and that her stomach is aching, a statement crafted not to inform but to provoke sympathy from older sister's generous and empathetic nature, ensuring that she could not sit in comfort knowing that her sister suffers. When older sis shared this with me, my response was: "So? I haven't eaten, either." I could last three days without eating, so her skipping dinner doesn't warrant concern from me. Go starve yourself.
The little leech always pulls this stunt. She does not ask outright—no, she lays the groundwork carefully, easing my sister into conversation, weaving a narrative of hardship just compelling enough to elicit sympathy, or worse, guilt. It is always the same, and always, in the end, she asks or borrows—though borrowing implies a return, and we have long since abandoned that expectation.
Days after my older sister shared to me how the brat's stomach ached with hunger, she made me watch yet another video of her doing a vlog of "a day in the life," something like that, where she gets up, cleans herself, puts on makeup, gets dressed, and then goes to the biggest mall in the city to have breakfast at one of the restaurants there. THE FUCK? The bitch is literally a beggar, and she travels to go to some pricey restaurant to have breakfast?
The delusion of this leprechaun, I'm telling you ..
She couldn't instead save and settle for cheap food?
But what pissed me off all the more was when I went home last year to attend granddad's funeral, and when I saw the bitch, she had a new fancy set of nails, new clothes, shoes, and even dyed her hair!
The same sister who always cries about being broke.
The same sister who always swears she has too many bills to pay.
The same sister who has been living rent-free in a house she hasn’t paid for in over a year.
She laments her poverty, yet embarks on road trips with her boyfriend, a man who has lived rent-free under her roof for years, as if gas is free. She speaks of burdensome bills, yet indulges in tattoos and decorative contact lenses.
But the pinnacle of my elder sister’s wrath came when the younger one procured—
Cue drumroll.
—an iPhone.
Yes.
A fucking iPhone.
Oh, no, not the latest; she couldn't afford that, but an extravagance nonetheless!
She could've paid her rent that's long overdue, but noooo, she had to have an iPhone first, because what is food? What is electricity? What is Wi-Fi? What are basic needs when necessity bows before vanity in the kingdom of her priorities?
All those talks of being broke and so many bills to pay, and she still managed to buy a freaking iPhone—the audacity! Is this where all the money she leeched from us went? Because she had the nerve to say she saved for it.
Another instance. Upon my return home last year, some months after my grandfather's funeral, my friends and I arranged for a night's lodging in the loftiest of the city's towers, where we might find respite after our journey from the island where I am now, where prior to our return, they had come to visit. It was to my sheer incredulity when my younger sister asked if she could come to the hotel room with us. Like, what the fuck? Stay away from my friends. And upon this response, she took another shot by asking if we could extend our time in the suite just before we leave because she had money to spare for the extra fee. Money to spare? TO SPARE? Where the fuck did she get "spare money" when it was only recently she performed her beggary! No. She wanted to stay in the hotel room not because she needed a place to rest, but because she wanted to take pictures and post them on social media to make a point to her "haters" that she's thriving, when in reality, she's an utter fraud who sucks the life out of her own family. A parasitic narcissist with delusions of grandeur. Not only does she have debt from us and from other people, but she also still takes money from mom.
Intent on feeding the high-society lifestyle she painted herself with on the screen even after my firm refusal, she made me take pictures and videos of the place in the guise of being curious. If she could not partake in the luxury itself, she would at least seize its image. She compelled me to capture for her a scene of delicate orchestration—my figure, upon passing the living room, drifting toward the balcony, the drapes parting at my touch, then sliding the glass doors open, and stepping outside to showcase the vast sprawl of the city unfolding before me as though I were mistress of it all. In that moment, pity for her weakened my judgment, and so I yielded, though I knew well enough the fate of those images. They would not remain mine, nor would they be a shared token of sisterly affection; no, they would be stolen, as all else had been, and paraded before strangers as though they belonged to her.
Whenever the consequences of her reckless choices catch up to her, she does not take responsibility; instead, she turns her suffering into a weapon, using it to manipulate those who still have the heart to care. With trembling words and well-timed tears, she tells our older sister how overwhelmed she is with debt, how she has no way out, how she is so exhausted by it all that sometimes she thinks of ending her own life.
It works—almost every time. Our older sister, despite her anger and frustration, cannot ignore such a plea. She helps, she sympathises, and I help while I roll my eyes. And yet, no sooner is the crisis over than the cycle begins again. She falls right back into her old ways—prioritising luxuries over basic needs, appearances over survival.
Trying to talk sense into her is pointless. Our older sister has tried countless times, and nothing has ever changed. Even our father, whose authority has always been absolute in the family, tried to intervene. (The pent-up frustration older sis felt could no longer be subdued by keeping it from the one person we all fear the most, so she revealed everything to father when he was here with mom for my niece's 2nd birthday over two weeks ago.) When he found out about his youngest's behavior, he set up a family meeting to confront us both—yes, including me because the older witch has complaints about me as well. He lectured, he scolded, he made it clear that this nonsense had to stop. And yet, it didn’t.
Not long after his words had faded, she was back at it—asking my older sister for money once more, as if nothing had happened. She is so used to leeching off others that she doesn’t even consider stopping. To her, it isn’t shameful—it’s simply the way things are. And so, the cycle continues, endless and infuriating.
I'd be silently content upon receiving my weekly salary only for her to ruin it because she needed money. And she knows when I'd get paid. One would think that having done her so many favours, these favours would easily be returned. However, last January, when I asked her to find a certain dress from my laundry basket and wash it for me because I might come home for the festival, she assured me she would. A week later, just before I was supposed to depart, I checked my outfit's status, and do you know what she said? She said she wasn't able to wash it because she had no time. I asked her this on a Saturday, her day off. She had a WHOLE Sunday, also a day off, to wash that dress and she didn't because she had "no time." She had an ENTIRE WEEK to tell me she didn't wash it, but she only told me when I inquired, the very day before my supposed departure. I was furious. So easy it is for her to ask favours from me, and despite my defiance, I still help her out, and this one little thing I ask of her, she couldn't grant? I've had enough. I couldn't trust her. I couldn't rely on her. This was when I first blocked her, as I mentioned above. I also asked another favour from her about a month ago, told her that I was utterly desperate, but, nada. When it's me who needs help, she doesn't lend a hand at all despite her promises she would.
I'm ranting this not to arouse sympathy or pity from anyone who reads. I have my own flaws, mistakes, and bad decisions, maybe far worse than hers. I am ranting simply because I no longer have a space within me to keep it bottled up inside. I am certain she has her own complaints, criticisms, and issues about me too, but this is my frustration toward her and my side of the story.
And all this built-up hostility against her... I feel like the dress she stole from me was the last straw.
She kept insisting she didn't steal it. When she came to visit here for our niece's birthday, she asked older sis if she could borrow (or have) something from her to wear, and older sis said she could look upstairs. Did she go to older sis's room and choose from her closet? No. She went to my room instead and rummaged through the big bag where my clothes rested. She said she thought they were older sister's clothes because it had the maternity dresses she gave me. But really? REALLY? She would think older sis, who's also taller and bigger than me, would own such a tiny dress? That when she took it, she didn't think it was a dress but a skirt? Bollocks! She found something she liked and seized it and "purposely" didn't tell my sister it was the dress she wanted to take because she knew it was mine and had she asked for my permission or at all, in hell I would allow her fat body to squeeze into my tiny dress!
UGH.
Fuck my guilt. She is a fat, cheap whore.