My Sister
Trigger Warning: emotional neglect, toxic parent
Military Training Camp
Years later, I saw a photo of my sister, who was two years my senior, in the yearbook of a military summer camp. Dressed in camouflage and saluting, she had a radiant smile on her face. Her eyes sparkled like sunlight reflecting off a rippling stream. She used to be expressionless, quiet, with a slight frown and tightly pursed lips. But in that photo, she looked vibrant, like a tender bud sprouting in spring.
In my memory, my sister always kept her head down, looking at her own toes. Upon reflection, I realize that in our family, as a son, I was the constant center of attention, while my sister seemed less like a supporting character and more like an invisible presence. I only remember that my mother always made the dishes I liked, and as for my sister’s preferences, I can’t recall them at all. The only thing I remember is that once she wanted a chicken leg but was scolded by our mother. In our family, it was taken for granted that both chicken legs were mine.
In fifth grade, when my parents were preparing to send me to military training camp, I cried and clung to them, unwilling to leave.
“If you leave, you’re a deserter,” the instructor said to me.
I cried even louder, not wanting to spend the night in a tent. My parents came up with a good idea: my sister went to the camp instead of me. They brought me back home, while my sister packed her bag.
A month later, my sister came back, her skin tanned. I asked if the training was hard, and she shook her head. I then asked about the food, and she nodded, mentioning they served chicken legs at least twice a week.
Estrangement
On the night of the Mid-Autumn Festival, my cousin came to visit us. She said she no longer wanted to return for holidays that symbolized family unity, nor did she want to see her father, who is also my father’s older brother.
My father frowned. “Really? He did raise you, after all.”
“I’ve cut ties with him since last year and decided not to have any contact,” my cousin said.
She began to explain her reasons for severing ties. From her birth, she was sent to live with her grandmother in the countryside until she started elementary school, while her younger brother always enjoyed their parents’ affection. Her father favored her brother, consistently scolding her and dismissing her needs. When she got into university, her father didn’t even provide tuition, forcing her to support herself through part-time work and financial aid.
Listening to my cousin’s narrative, it struck me how similar my sister’s experience had been to hers. I began to understand why my sister, after getting married two years ago, decided not to come home. In this family, she was never truly considered a member. My parents, like my cousin’s and countless others, believe that raising a daughter is akin to nurturing a future daughter-in-law for someone else’s family-the notion that once a girl is married, she becomes part of another family, like water spilled and irretrievable.
The room fell silent. My father picked up a chicken leg, paused, and then, instead of offering it to my cousin, handed it to me.
“Why didn’t you give the chicken leg to her?” I whispered.
My father sighed. “She doesn’t need that kind of care.
Outburst
On New Year’s Eve, my sister did not come home for the family dinner again, and my father exploded. He slammed his hand on the table. His words burst forth like a string of firecrackers, berating her for lack of filial piety, criticizing her for never calling home and for her absence during the holidays, and claiming he had raised an ingrate.
“Let’s eat first-it’s the holiday, and the food is getting cold,” my mother pleaded.
Before leaving, my sister had told me that her life here felt as desperate as gasping for breath after surfacing from water.
I sat at the table filled with rich dishes, mechanically chewing my white rice. Around me, the enticing scents of fried chicken, pan-fried ribbon fish, and roasted duck mingled, then slowly dissipated into indistinctness. Like the aromas to which I had become so accustomed, I could no longer distinguish them.
Huina Zheng, with her Distinction M.A. in English Studies, is a college essay coach and an editor. Her stories appear in Baltimore Review, Variant Literature, and more. Nominated three times for both the Pushcart Prize and Best of the Net, she lives in Guangzhou, China with her family.
