I have a secret. And it’s one I’ve never told a soul.

  I had an older sister. She didn’t have a younger sister. That was how things worked in the family. Jessica was the apple of everyone’s eye, always under the spotlight, while I existed simply to keep her company. She didn’t treat me exceptionally kindly and she knew and used to her advantage the fact that everyone favored her. There was no case of the younger being babied and the older being sidelined, it was the other way round. It didn’t matter; I still looked up to her a lot.

  She had everything. Good grades, performed well aesthetically and teachers praised her to the skies. When I entered the same school as she did, everyone expected me to be just the same, if not better. I tried, I really did try my best, but no one believed me. But that’s okay, I know I tried. Teachers often shot looks of disappointment at me. Their most frequent complain was none other than how I was a far cry from my sister. They felt I would never amount to anything much, while Jessica was going to achieve big things in future, maybe win a Nobel Prize, too.

  It was living hell for me everyday. I grew up under Jessica's shadow and no matter what, I could never outshine her. I remember showing my mother proudly what I had scored for my first test -- a full marks for my math paper, no less. But she brushed it off with a sneer, "Jessica did well for her first test too, and many other tests to come. Jessica is going to participate in a maths competition next weekend too. Krystal, why can't you be more like your sister?"

  "So, you scored full marks for your first test? Big deal," Jessica told me when I showed her the paper.

  That test paper was ripped to shreds and thrown into the bin. Never mind that, I still had to work harder and be like Jessica, since everyone expected me to.

  I joined a singing competition at school when I was eleven. For the first time in my life, a teacher praised me. "Krystal, you have a very good voice! You'll make it to the finals, definitely!"

  I locked myself in my room and cried that day. It was an entirely new feeling for me. I never knew it would feel so nice to be praised just once. I didn't know it would spur me on so much to do well knowing someone had the faith in me to succeed. For Jessica who had been praised all her life, another teacher's affirmation of her talents probably didn't mean all that much. But it meant the world to me.

  I practiced whenever I could and got myself ready for the competition. I was extremely nervous and hoped I would do well. When my name was called, I walked onto the stage slowly and stood under the spotlight. Everyone below the stage had their eyes on me. For that moment, I mattered most. It felt extremely nice to be that important. I wasn't being sidelined anymore; I was the center of everyone's attention. I gave the competition my all as I belt out the high notes I've repeatedly practiced over a fortnight. The applause that followed stunned me. It was the best praise I've ever got, a clap on the back telling me I've done well. I didn't win first prize; I only made it with first runner up, but the prize didn't matter all that much. It felt good to have everyone have their eye on me; it was a nice change for once. I decided then that I belonged to the stage and would strive my hardest to get up there again.

  "First runner up? Singing competition?" bellowed Father as he threw my trophy onto the ground. "You'll never amount to anything much. Singing will get you nowhere. What's worse is that you can't even be the top."

  With that, he stormed to his room and slammed the door close. Tears threatening to fall, I knelt down and picked up my trophy, noticing a dent on its side. Suddenly, it flew out of my hands and was thrown across the room into the bin. Jessica stood before me; hands at her hips as she clicked her tongue disapprovingly, "Such a waste of space..."

  The trophy had a part broken off. Tears rolled down my cheeks as she sauntered out of the room to get a cloth to polish all her trophies that were neatly lined up on a shelf above her bed.

  I finally realized that I have been idolizing the wrong person. I had practically worshipped the ground Jessica walked on, tried to emulate every one of her steps, tried my hardest to be the intelligent, beautiful perfection she was. But to her, I was nothing more than trash. My existence was simply for our relatives to have a lesser being to compare her with and praise her to the skies. Aunts and uncles would offer disappointed smiles and say, "You can do better. Jessica is so good in her academics. You're lucky you have a sister to turn to when you need help."

  She would turn to me and offer a sympathetic smile, but beneath that facade, it was a jeer, a jeer at me that I'd never be better than her. She would roll her eyes at me when no one was watching, wishing me wiped off the surface of the earth.

  I had an older sister. She didn't have a younger sister. She had something no more than trash living under her shadow that she'd gladly get rid off, much less spare a glance at.

  Needless to say, when she came of age at eighteen, a huge party was thrown for her. I felt bitter just thinking about it; three years later, I probably wouldn't get a celebration as elaborate as hers. I'd probably be stuck with a cake if I'm lucky enough, and that's about it. no birthday song sung, no presents.

  Jessica invited quite a few of her friends over since our parents let her have the apartment for the night while they went to visit my grandparents. I was neither invited to nor evicted from the party and could only hole up in my room all night long, trying to sleep over the loud music and incessant laughing and cheering. Clinks of glasses and bottles were heard and I knew that someone had brought alcohol, lots of it. It wasn't Jessica's first time consuming alcohol anyway, but our parents probably wouldn't care. The noise finally died down an hour after midnight and I stepped out of my room to check on things. Most of her friends had left, a few were sprawled out on the floor and couch, drunk beyond hope. Jessica herself was barely sober, bottle in hand as she giggled and pointed at me, swaying from side to side as she leaned on the balcony's railings for support.

  "You're drunk," I remarked.

  "You're stupid," she slurred. "So stupid..."

  She burst into a fit of giggles again.

  “You think I don’t remember, don’t you?” I asked, approaching her slowly.

  Jessica could barely look at me in the eye, her voice coming out as a hoarse whisper, “What do you remember?”

  “When you were seven years old, and I was four years old… What happened in our room?”

  She straightened herself up a little, supporting her limp lower body by clutching to the railings.

  “Remember how I was coughing badly, almost choking and Mother ran to our room to check on us—no, check on you?”

  Her eyes widened and her jaw grew slack.

  “You lied,” I accused, my voice an octave lower than it usually was. “You lied. I wasn’t coughing. You had been strangling me because you didn’t think I deserved to live. You thought I was a useless being that only had a chance to live because of you. You thought I was too young to remember your dirty little secret, secret that you hated me and tried to kill me, no?”

  She seemingly mouthed a few words, but not a sound was emitted from . She tugged at the collar of her shirt a few times, tears welling up to her eyes.

  “Don’t… Don’t tell…” she whimpered.

  “Don’t? Don’t tell?” I laughed dryly.

  I had expected an apology at the very least. But no, she was a self-centered till the very end. All she cared about was that her seemingly perfect record was not to be tainted by her dirty little secret. I never mattered. I probably was better off dead then and passed off as an accident caused by my parents negligence. They would definitely cover up everything for her, no doubt.

  "I get it. You're perfect and I'm a stain that'd ruin your life... You're so perfect, it's sickening, you know? Everyone praises you to the skies and I'm no more than a waste of space and energy, something better off dead."

  Jessica started crying. I gave her a slap across the cheek. She didn't have any rights to cry. I should be the one crying. I slapped her a second time. She would not remember it when she was sober. Eyes swollen and cheeks red, she was crumpled over the railings. I turned and stormed back to my room. Tears began to fall as soon as my door clicked shut.  

  The headlines next day was about an eighteen year old who fell to her death in her drunken state from the twenty-second floor. Everyone termed it an unfortunate accident, for Jessica was still the perfect being in their eyes. They sighed over what she could have possibly acheived had she not met with a mishap. My parents blamed me for not watching over their daughter. I never talked to them again and when I was legal, I moved out on my own.

  What happened back then was never brought up. It was my past, a secret others didn’t need to know.

  Years later, I would sit by myself at my apartment’s balcony now and then to enjoy a little peace and quiet, a framed poster of Krystal Jung the world-renowned singer-actress hanging in my living room, a wine glass in my right hand. I would watch the blood red liquid swirl in the chalice and think about what happened over the years. My torn up test paper. The discarded, broken trophy. I think about why I tore my paper up and threw it away. I wonder why I broke and trashed my first trophy.  Then I’d replay my last conversation with Jessica in my head and smile a little to myself.

  “Cheers,” I’d whisper each time, lift the glass a little then take a sip.

  Maybe I have another secret.

  Maybe I had pushed her down.