Star Feature: My Sister

My sister Tiffany has been pestering me for her star feature...so here it is.

(Earlier on Google Chat...)

Tiffany: Whatcha doin'?

Me: ...Finally working on your blog post. Ugh.

Tiffany: Don't sound so miserable doing it! >:(

Me: >:(

...It all started when I made the mistake of mentioning to Tiffany that I was planning on writing a blog post about her and illustrating bird pictures of our lives as siblings.

This was several months ago, before I got bogged down with a staggeringly long to-do list...which, admittedly, may have been the result of indolent procrastination on my part. So when I told Tiffany I had to keep pushing back her featured post, she communicated her displeasure in the most dramatic way possible.

My sister isn't a spotlight-seeker per se, but once you blurt voice any intention of casting her as the star of anything, she will clamp onto that verbalization and hold you to it until you make it happen.

So after receiving a collection of text messages bearing different variations of, "WHERE'S THE BLOG POST ABOUT ME THAT YOU PROMISED TO WRITE?? I WON'T ACKNOWLEDGE YOU AS A SIBLING UNTIL I SEE IT!"...I decided it's probably time to follow through with the promise I barely remember making.

To start off, a bit of information. Tiffany is four years younger than I am, and she was born during the peak of my childhood fat years (God, was I a porker). Up to that point, I had been a pampered (and very well-fed) only child, so learning of my mother's pregnancy was most unwelcome news.

 
For a single young child that had been lovingly spoiled by both parents for over three years, the prospect of engaging in sibling activities (such as sharing) was highly unappealing. Unfortunately for me, fetuses have a tendency to enter the birthing process no matter how much their older siblings hope they stay put in utero. And so in the summer of 1992, my mom went into labor at an ungodly hour of the morning.

My dad rushed my mom to the hospital, and I was left behind with my grandma. The sequence of events was very confusing to a 4-year-old kid because I had woken up to find that it was still dark outside, both my parents were in a panic, they then left the apartment at the same time, and no one had even fed me yet.

I was convinced they had abandoned me.

My grandma held down the fort and comforted me enough so that I didn't develop PTSD while my parents welcomed my sister into the world. A couple of days later, they brought her home to meet me.

I didn't realize it at the time, but Tiffany was pretty much the cutest baby ever. Even though she rarely smiled.

And being the jealous brat that I was, I put up a lot of resistance in approaching her.

I reluctantly padded over to her as she sat there on the floor and dribbled up at me. While the adults obliviously moved to another room to give me some bonding time with my new sibling, I decided to issue a greeting that wasn't exactly benevolent.

...I tried to smother my own sister with a pillow. If that doesn't win the Most Heinous Sibling Award, I don't know what would. I honestly don't remember doing this (my mom told me about it when I was at an age where I could comprehend guilt), so I'm not certain whether I was purposely trying to eliminate Tiffany or just trying to hide her under an oversized pillow and hope she'd disappear like a magic trick.

Either way, my intentions were pretty horrifying, so it was a good thing my grandma's intuition kicked in and told her that something was wrong. She sent my mom to check up on my sister and me.

And this is what she found.

To be continued...

Update [1/20/13]: I'd forgotten I had the second part already illustrated and partly written, so I'm just going to lump it with this post.

Picking up where we left off...

Right after I smushed my infant sister with a pillow, my mom walked in.

She freaked out.

And kicked my ass.

So after I got the spanking of a lifetime and was sentenced to three hours in the timeout corner without parole, I grew even more bitter about Tiffany's existence.

While most normal children would associate punishment with the act of smothering their defenseless siblings, I instead associated punishment with getting caught.

As far as my 4-year-old tubby butt was concerned, Tiffany was an intruder to my comfortable family environment. If I was going to have to compete with her for parental attention, she was going to be as miserable as I was.

And so, over the next several years, I terrorized my sister mercilessly.

Throughout her ordeal of having to put up with me, Tiffany maintained a surprisingly sweet demeanor. She did try to fight back a couple of times (which never got her very far), but she was overall a very loving and forgiving kid. It was very surprising. And kind of ridiculous.

Note [1/20/13]: This post was never finished, so the happy ending is that Tiffany and I grew up to become best friends. Even though she'll never let me forget the Dark Age known as our childhood. It's all good. The end.

No pressure or anything...

My family came over for lunch yesterday to see my new place and to make sure I hadn't already starved to death since I'm currently living on my leftover federal student loan money (which is depleting at an alarming rate).

I was unable to work on any blog material because I spent the entire morning doing some last minute cleaning, and the caramelized butternut squash I had been optimistically baking in the oven decided to make my life harder by adhering to the pan. I managed to finish (and fix) everything in time, however, and I enthusiastically welcomed in my family, consisting of my father, mother, and sister.

We talked over lunch about my apartment complex, my new hobbies, and my job search. I then began discussing my blog and how it will eventually help me reach literary success. I recently unveiled its existence on my Facebook profile, and I'm hoping the people who read it will enjoy its contents and refer it to their friends, thus increasing my exposure and garnering a widespread audience. <--- (Conspicuous subliminal messaging)

My mother had somewhat of a different perspective.

Mom: Are you making any money off this blog thing?

Me: Well...not yet, but hopefully soon...

Mom: How often do you work on it?

Me: Um...I'd say about seven hours a day ever since I started it last week...

Mom: So you're putting all your effort into some online diary instead of your job search?

Me: I'd rather it not be called a diary...

Mom: You need to find a job so you can get your own health insurance.

Me: Er...

Mom: You do realize you're still going to get kicked off our insurance when you turn 23, right?

Me: Yeah...about that...

The new health care law extending individuals' coverage under their parents' health insurance until 26 years old currently applies only to civilian health plans, not plans under the Department of Defense...so it doesn't apply to military dependents under Tricare (i.e. me).

A letter from DoD had apparently arrived at my parents' house, basically containing my pink slip stating that I would be fired from my father's insurance plan once I turn 23 years old this August. My mother kindly informed me of this event.

My parents then took the opportunity to demand suggest that I come back home. Unlike the case with most families in America, it is common practice in my parents' homeland (the Philippines) for children to live with their parents well into their adulthood, until they marry and move out to live with their spouse. Or they can just never leave. There have been instances when spouses moved into the family home, numbering the household occupancy at an impressive 8-10+ members.

Not quite grasping that I have a very large personal bubble and don't share those same ideals since I grew up in the American culture, my parents have been relentless in their attempts to convince me to come back and live with them. Forever.

That could be why I decided when starting this blog that I would depict myself as a bird. It is an allusion to my leaving the nest (or my struggles to launch myself from the nest when both the recession and my parents are opposed to the prospect).

I lived in the dorms during my first two years of college, and then in apartments with friends, so according to my parents, that should suffice as my vacation from the familial nest and it is now time to return. While I am still adamant about trying to be an adult and make something of myself, it's true that I'm going to need to find some sort of health insurance once my deadline hits in three months.

I have hypothyroidism, a thyroid disease in which the thyroid gland does not produce enough thyroid hormone. It isn't life threatening if monitored and controlled with medication, but I'm going to need health insurance to continue my regular check ups and prescription meds.

If left untreated, hypothyroidism can cause and/or contribute to a number of complications, including heart disease, the development of a goiter, declining mental health (how ironic, for someone who wants to become a practitioner in the mental health field), and possibly myxedema (resulting in coma).

So basically, I will end up like this:

But really...no pressure!

-J. S. Blancarte