It’s been quite a while. Recently, I was motivated to write a post about my uncongenial sibling relationship, but I forgot why I wanted to talk about it in the first place so I only left it in my Drafts. I felt like I need a good enough reason to share something so personal. I suppose the reason why I decided to bare my sole and talk about it is for me to comprehend why exactly this has happened.
I am not talking to my sister, and haven’t been for quite a long while. I know my mother wishes that we talk, but affection cannot be forced. I can be quite childish and play the silent treatment game, but experience have made me wiser and I understand why my mother would want to see her children bond. I thought long and hard, and I became slightly baffled. My sister and I weren’t exactly close to start of with, but our relationship wasn’t too bad. We joked and laughed and could tell each other secrets. We didn’t stop talking without reason. An incident that happened about 2 years ago triggered it. I may have blown it out of proportion, I confess, but, several times, I had wanted to reconcile. However, each time I had wanted to, she annoyed me again and the feeling instantly dissipated. I will not go into detail about what she had done because I am not a saint and I’m sure I’m also guilty – one way or another – of contributing to our fall-out.
For a while, I felt horrid for being this way. I wanted to know if it was normal for siblings to be like this, so I resorted to Internet to find out. I read several blog posts, one of which this one. My sister truly isn’t that bad, but what I learned was that, while it is considered undesirable, it isn’t very wrong. Yes, I know that Islam discourages estrangement amongst relatives, but it just feels so difficult right now.
I really wish I could talk to her, but I just cannot bring myself to do it. I have so much built-up frustration towards her that the thought of talking to her seems so impossible. I suppose I’m quite tired. My poor mother depends on me the most and I don’t blame her for any of this. I am trying my best to be a good daughter (I don’t think I am there yet, honestly) and will continue to do that but what frustrates me the most is that I am fighting to make things easier for my mother against all 3 of my siblings. I, alone, am not enough to make my mother happy.
Now, on to happy things. I cooked for the family thrice, and unsupervised! Boy, was it pressurizing.
- Paru Semor Suun (beef lungs + glass vermicelli + dry sambal)
- Chicken Rice
- Spaghetti Bolognese
The first one was quite a disappointment. The paru was so difficult to chew because I didn’t boil it long enough, though the taste was quite spot-on. I was low-key shattered. I truly felt so sad. This always happens when something I made doesn’t quite make the cut.
But, Alhamdulillah, I succeeded with the other two. You have no idea how accomplished I feel. My father loves my mother’s cooking and he couldn’t detect the difference. That’s an excellent start! One thing I realised after having done housework succeedingly for three days back-to-back – IT! IS! TIRING! How my mother does it routinely for close to 25 years bemuses me. She is a superwoman. Mothers are superheroes, I tell ya. (Of course, fathers can be too. No discriminating here :P)
I’ll let you in on a little secret. Truthfully, I am torn between wanting to be a careermum or a homemaker. First off, I’ll let you know that being a wife and mother has always been a life goal of mine. Growing up in a household with a housewife as a mother influenced me a lot in my desire to be a stay-at-home mum. I enjoy doing housework, that’s one, but I also think for some woman, there’s so much joy in being able to be there for our children literally every step of the way, witnessing their growth, having all the time in our hands to make our family breakfast, help our children get dressed for school, sending them to school, allowing our family to come back home to us, help our children with their school work, the list goes on. Not that we can’t do all of that while working, but try as we might to balance work and family, we will somewhat be limited by exhaustion and/or stress from work. Not all women will agree with me, but seeing as how from a young age (I berangan a lot, lmao, please spare me your judgment), I’ve always dreamed (yes, dreamed) of being a stay-at-home mum, I feel extremely tormented between wanting to be that and pursuing a (perhaps successful) career as a social worker – which is a recognisably physically and mentally draining job – or other probable job my qualification might take me.
Talking about qualification – I am starting school very soon! I am terrified. Once in poly I was so overwhelmed by the intensity of the semester that I cried due to stress. Over something that hasn’t even begun yet. Admittedly, I am quite the crier. In primary school, I cried in an English class because I couldn’t describe an oral picture. In secondary school, I cried due to fear of heights when attempting several high elements course during camp and in poly, at freaking 17, I cried TWICE – the first time in a public speaking class when I stumbled during an impromptu presentation and the second at a high element course. You can probably deduce from the above-mentioned that 1) I am very expressive – can’t help it, 2) I am TERRIFIED of heights, and 3) I hate public speaking.
I don’t think I’ve shared this before but it has been confirmed (insyaAllah) that I will be studying Social Work at SUSS (previously SIM University). I attended their Get To Know You Session on Wednesday, where students were informed of what to expect during our 4-year programme. I left the room feeling bloody petrified and slightly regretful I hadn’t chosen Criminology at SIT. But who knows, Criminology could be worse. The lecturers were set to scare us, I’ll have you know. The same thing happened in poly and usually, the semester turned out to be better than I’d expected. So I don’t know if they’re just trying to prepare us for the worst or informing us of the realities of the programme. We were informed that there will be a lot of public speaking. Just thinking about it makes me feel faint. But, InsyaAllah it will prepare me well for the job because being a social worker involves a lot of communicating.
But if there’s one thing I learnt, it’s that they lied. I was told by many (i.e. my public speaking tutor) that with practice comes improvement or perfection or whatever, but I can vouch for its fallacy. Not sure if I had sufficient practice but in secondary school, I held several leadership roles where I had to repeatedly speak in front of a crowd (as a student councillor, camp facilitator, CCA main committee) and in poly, where I had to do countless presentations, and yet, at every instant where I had to speak up, I am engulfed by a colossal wave of anxiety comprising of 1) wild butterflies bombarding the insides of my stomach, 2) the false urge to poop, 3) face red and hot as burning coal, 4) sweat swamping my entire existence and 5) a desire to escape from reality. Fine that I experience that, but I thought I hid it well. N to the O. P. E. People often ask me if I’m nervous, tell me to “relax”, “take a deep breath”, “count to ten”, so on and so forth. And as if that’s not telling enough, my hands literally vibrate if I’m holding a cue card, which oftentimes, is a necessity (for me).
I’ve said it before but I’ll say it again. Sometimes, I feel disadvantaged because the ability to communicate and/or speak well is an asset for school and work success. Yeah, success requires stepping out of the comfort zone, yada yada, but at times, I get so tired of repeatedly experiencing such an anxiety that I just wish I could forever stay in my cozy, warm bubble of comfort.