Dear friend,

I dare not call you by your real name, for I am afraid that I will start crying. You are a great person and I love you so much. It is a pity that you must leave, but then again, it is your decision, or nature's decision. Could you not send me a reply to this letter if you see it, and tell us the truth of the matter?

It's been a few years since you left. Growing and developing without you is tough, harder than anything we could have done together, because we've always been together. You've accompanied me through my entire lifetime, acting like a second mother, being my best friend.

Mother and Father are finding it difficult to cope without you, too. Ever since you left, work has been dull at the store and business has decreased. It's like your presence lures all the cheer and fun to wherever you go, so now that you've left, all the quarrels and arguments erupt from the family like some suppressed volcano.

It's got so bad that they're considering closing it down.

Why did you have to leave? Could you tell me?

Since you aren't coming back, we could recall some things we've done together before your departure. If you can read this letter, of course.

From the moment I was born till the end of our journey together, you've never gotten truly mad at me, no matter how many times I blamed you for things you've never actually done, or when I scribbled over your worksheets and landed you in trouble at school. You never fought back.

Even when Mother and Father blamed you for their troubles and worries, you would nod and head back to your room, not looking back to see what we were doing.

You didn't seem to care about how Mother cradled me in her arms, how Father bought the nicest toy for me, and you never said anything about it.

When Mother told you to bring me out with your friends, you seemed kind of angry, but you agreed. You didn't seem so reluctant after that, even buying a big ice cream cone just for me and letting me stay in the fast food place while you and your friends went out to do some boring shopping. You were so nice, coming back and making sure I had enjoyed my nice treat before going home.

There was a time, I remember, when you arrived back from school sulky and unhappy, unlike the many times you came back smiling broadly. How you managed to smile so radiantly after so many boring classes I did not understand, but Mother scolded you for being a bad example to me for pulling a long face.

When you came up to me, though, you would drop your pretence and show your true self to me. I felt honoured that you would be willing to let me see how you truly felt, and not let anyone else know this secret side of yours. I couldn't understand why you were so upset and angry every day, but I thought that it was probably school.

When you left, you didn't take your belongings or whatever. I was happy, though, since I knew you wanted to live somewhere else other than the house we lived in, and I think you're happy in some other place in the world, contented and away from the constant scoldings of Mother and Father.

Well, then, Mother is calling me for dinner, so I'll have to stop here. I hope you will be able to read this when we pay you a visit at the cemetery. Goodbye, then.

Your loving sister,

Audrey

~~~~~~

After reading what is on the letter, I am horrified.

This was written years ago, when I was but a young, naive ten year old and as smart as I may be in school, as articulate as I may be back then, I was oblivious to any signs my sister was showing.

I'm seventeen now. I've seen my share of people who have had difficult experiences and harsh times back in their homes, heard enough of their stories from home to understand exactly what my sister had been going through.

Each time Mother slapped her and shouted at her for being "incompetent in school", I've always thought she wasn't as smart or hardworking as she should be for her age. In truth, however, her grades were good, above average, better than the others in her school. It was Mother who had high expectations of her, and she got the worst of it.

Now that I'm in the same situation as her when she suffered these blows, I understand how she felt back then. Mother tries to tell me off too for my average scores - my grades were not as good as hers - but now she is old and frail, too tired to try to spur me on with her scoldings. She must have felt awful when Mother scolded her, and not me. I know she tried her best.

The many times I've shown off my new toys and clothes to her, the many times I put the blame on her for breaking things or scribbling on her precious projects or assignments that counted towards her final grade, she never said anything. Rather, she would frown at me and push me aside, and now I understand the profanity she would mutter under her breath.

It's horrifying.

How could I have misunderstood all her actions? Why would I have shown off Mother's and Father's favouritism towards me to her? She must have felt so bad.

The other times when she came back, jubilant about the smallest of things, as though if they were made up on the spot as a reason to be happy - they weren't truly reasons. They were lies to cover up her insecurity, because if she were to show that unhappy face, Mother would berate her about being a poor role model for me - the naive ten year old me.

When she showed her true self to me?

That was when she unleashed all her pent-up frustrations on me, bent on making me learn my lesson, and I never understood why exactly she was so irritated. She was so angry, so furious, so tired of all the accusations that she just had to let it out somewhere, and she knew little naive me wouldn't tell anyone if I were to witness her rage. I loved her too much.

Her suicide should come as no surprise to me if I had noticed more about her sooner.

I wish she could come back to life again, so as a younger sister, I could help her with whatever troubles she had and stop her from the path she had taken.

It's a big loss to us.

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Another piece submitted for the creative arts programme.