(Part 2)

One could only hold stress, depression and worthlessness for a certain amount of time and intensity. When everything cramped up inside, it burst. When it burst, I, the new Tiffany, happened.

I was no longer the passive masochist who hated her sister secretly. You took everything away from me? Well. I decided to fill my non-existent being with something else and I made sure you wouldn’t like it.

I’ve become bad. I started hanging out with the wrong crowd. Mostly with a crowd who also have issues with you. They're the only type of people I could relate to. I couldn't really consider them as friends but at least we shared the same insecurities about you. That was enough for me. I was not happy but at least I was not alone.

Still the angel to my mother but the special brand of plastic, obnoxious armed with stinging sarcastic remarks made just for you. On times that you try to told me off, you were just talking to an empty shell. I couldn't hear your voice anymore. I didn't want to.

Could you blame me for being like that, huh, sister? I’m merely compensating for something I’ve lost because of you; my identity.

I tried my best to make it clear that I don’t want anything to do with you. I avoided you. I ignored you. I provoked you. I did every demeaning thing I could think of just to make you as miserable as I was. I knew everything I did will affect you somehow. You made me a part of your definition? Well, allow me to me stain your reputation.

Your distress became my energy. The one that kept me moving forward. I believed that making you suffer was the only thing important. It gave me a purpose; a new sense of existence. I was not just a sister anymore. I’ve become your destruction and I loved every bits of it.  

You could keep the things you have taken away from me but in return, I’ll destroy everything else. Enjoy them till you could. One day the only thing you have will be the things I no longer need and had learned to live without. Our existence as sisters have always been a competition and I was determined that one day, I would stand as the victor.

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I’ve been wondering at first who you are. Are you Queen Oblivious or Little Miss Stupid Universe?

Despite everything I’ve done, you kept doing things that involved getting the two of us together. I’ve tried so hard analyzing why everything I did seem to be ineffective against you.

My mischief put your career in a compromising situation yet you treated me the same. I knew perfectly how my little trip to the hellside had affected you. Decrease on promotions, haters, decline on commercial offers; I made all that possible but you didn’t seem to mind it at all.

I started to think that you’re enjoying it instead. That it was fun for you. Your career had always been going upwards smoothly; you might have thought it was thrilling to have threats to spice it up.

I almost believed you’re the real masochist and not me, until I realized you’re not doing the things you’ve done for fun but for a reason. And that was to teach me a lesson. A lesson that you’re better than me; that’s a fact that’ll stay forever.

I was the book smart type. I never thought someone could make me learn from experience but you have proven me otherwise.

You brought me to parties with you, even to awards night I was not even supposed to. You knew you won’t be able to convince me so you used my mother every time to make me comply. And I did. I will do anything my mother asked me to. Even if it means bearing to be with you. 

You introduced me to people at every events. Every time you do, you looked at me proudly like you’re happy that the one slowly putting your career into pieces was with you. Keep your friends close and your enemies closer; maybe that’s what you had in mind.  After a little chitchat here and there, you would always excuse yourself and spend the rest of the night being dragged around by your manager. And where did that leave me? I ended up alone on the table, looking out of place as always.

Every time that happened, people looked at me like I was a lost dog with a broken limb that you picked-up from somewhere. Worst, they treated me like one too.

That’s what your actions were about. It’s about teaching me that pity was not like sympathy or empathy like the dictionary had implied. Pity, I've learned, was never as simple as that.

Pity is the urge to acknowledge someone despite contrasting feelings of unwillingness and guilt. It initiates actions done by someone aiming to satisfy their conscience and induce self gratification. In your world, it was characterized by fake smiles, awkward jokes and questions about the weather, incongruent compliments and discreet glances on moments of silence.

People associate pity to an innate desire to help someone in need. That’s why they tend to forget that no matter much of it they give, it wouldn’t change a thing. It’ll only encumber. It’s like using alcohol to clean a wound. We thought we’re disinfecting it but we’re only making it worse. Not only does it hurt but it makes the wound so dry afterwards. Easy to crack. More vulnerable.

I wished you never knew that piece of wisdom. Or at least, didn’t share it to me. You could have given me hope if you didn't. Hope that my efforts in changing myself were not in vain. Hope that somehow, if I chose the right decisions, I could prove that I too could be strong and not just your measly shadow.

Please do comment. I would love to hear them. 

Fanart used is owned by Jellywing.