What the F Issue 14

Page 20

“What is a Sister?” by Ana Lucena

I

never had a sister. I was gifted two younger brothers close in age. My brothers and I have a good relationship, caring for each other’s career goals and sharing a common sense of humor. Despite this, throughout elementary school I would bring up to my parents how much I wished I had a sister. I was naturally introverted and shy, so making lasting friendships wasn’t my forte. When I heard other girls talk about the fights they had with their sisters about personal space and toys, I was jealous. I thought having a sister would give me a close friend, who would understand me better than my brothers and could relate to me more than my mom. Though my brothers and I had our fun times playing with each other and tastefully getting on each other’s nerves, it never provided the camaraderie of womanhood I was looking for. My brothers were disappointed that I didn’t want to play violent video games or watch crude comedies to bond with them. They mistook my rejection of these activities for a rejection of closeness. I started looking for this "sister" in other places—like friendship. My mother, watching this search unfold, warned me not to get my hopes too high. She explained that sisterhood was special. This only made me crave this type of relationship more. I did eventually make good female friends with my shared love of drawing and social justice. But I also encountered bullying, was hurled put-downs, and received several variations of “you have no friends” written in my yearbook. I was told I would be prettier if I did my makeup and hair, and that no one cared about my specific comments about literature and film when I talked too “adult.” It is easy to categorize these encounters as "coming of age." That it was the product of "mean girls." That this is just how middle school is. And I came to understand that, too. But when the traits that apparently made me so different were pointed out to me by my mom at home, I worried if anyone would ever embrace them. Once, my mom brought up the possibility of taking me to a psychologist to help

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me with these concerns. I was ecstatic to finally get help. But the next time I brought it up, she dismissed me, getting offended I would want to waste family money; I just needed to put myself out there more, she said. I am still learning how to undo the damage to my sense of self. Damage that was mostly, to my surprise, done by women. I was socialized to stay away from boys. I was taught how they would demand kisses or make you pleasure their dick if you got too close. I was ready for this. But it hurt to learn that women are not in this together. That they disrespect one another, too. When I first learned about feminism through Tumblr halfway through high school, I felt vindicated. This is why I refused to accept the stereotypes in the media that women are catty and cruel by nature: men and the media capitalize on our insecurities and make us feel like we must compete against each other. And so, I still had faith in finding a friend who I could instead call a sister to me. I decided this would be my top priority in college. My new goal was overshadowed by a change in the dynamics of my relationship with my brother. Two months before starting college, my brother was diagnosed with a rare and “milder” form of muscular dystrophy. This news came after a year of medical examinations for his limitations of mobility, in his neck, wrist, and ankles. My mom and I cried terribly all the same. I did the best I could to support my brother by researching his condition on Google and understanding the shaky prognosis that, after his pacemaker was inserted, he should be “okay” (read: able to walk) for several more decades as the muscle cells in his arms, legs, and heart increasingly starved. I went to college with a heavy heart, processing my brother’s condition and a newfound awareness of my privilege as an able-bodied person. After attending a workshop on campus focused on disability issues, I wanted to make sure my brother would always feel comfortable talking to me about his condition.


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