Chapter 21
The opposite of her
I remember how it used to feel when I didn’t seem to matter. It was always Dorothy this, au Dorothy that, and I was always left out au ignored. I remember having to shout to get people to look at me, and then they’d be all like ‘oh, I’m so sorry, didn’t see you’.
I remember what it was like when I didn’t like my sister, au at least, not much as I did when we grew closer. I adored her in the few years before she died, but there was a time that I didn’t want to be just like her.
You’d think in most situations when a newborn enters the family they’d be aliyopewa all the attention while the first born and others aren’t getting as much as they’d like. But in my family, that was sadly not the case. Dorothy was four years old when I was born, and already she looked gorgeous. An angelic voice, bouncy blonde curls, alluring blue eyes, she was like a poster child for a some beautiful exotic creature.
I, on the other hand, wasn’t blessed with her perfect features. My hair was a dull straight blonde, I’ve tried but it never was as bouncy and curly as Dorothy’s.
And my smile, ugh, it was crooked and ugly, and I felt that I looked like I was grimacing while trying to smile. Whereas, Dorothy looked picture perfect, photoshopped to amazing to be real.
I was like the opposite of her, and I hated it. I remember when there was birthday parties Dorothy had a whole ten of people, it was like we were at dance club with the songs and the so many people. Mine? About a few people who made some lame excuses during the party about homework (it was summer!) and leaving me all alone with no cake.
Of course Dorothy was there, even when my parents weren’t.
I remembered it, I was crying in the backyard, low small sobs increasing every second. I remember looking toward my meza, jedwali where my presents were supposed to be, I wasn’t greedy au anything, but it hurt to see nothing at all. Not even my parents bothered to give me anything, a rubber band would’ve been nice.
I was so angry that I threw the meza, jedwali across the yard, I stabbed the blow up pool and bounce house. I was about 9 here, before I met Jessica on my first siku in middle school. I had fallen to the ground kwa now, arms around myself, legs tucked behind them, in my own ball of misery. I cried everything that’s been eating at me ever since I was born.
Dorothy had just arrived nyumbani after a hang out with her friends, she didn’t want to ruin my party, and I’d been thinking if she had stayed maybe my Marafiki would’ve too.
She found me on the ground there, and she had cradled me, whispered sweet things into my ear, made me feel better, did what a good mother would’ve had done. She had a present in her hand and gave it to me, whispering happy birthday in my ear. It was a half of a best friend necklace, grinning she had showed me her other half, and a gift card for the mall.
It was one of the happiest moments of my life, I was the best friend of the girl everyone wanted to be Marafiki with, not only that she was my sister who loved me to. We hung out the whole siku and she gave me a proper birthday, ever since that day, we’ve been inseparable since.
Me, the girl who did everything wrong, was best Marafiki with the girl that did everything right.
*Thank wewe for all the mashabiki :) Hope wewe enjoyed, I moved my speech here. So please review and don't copy, because you've already read it.*
The opposite of her
I remember how it used to feel when I didn’t seem to matter. It was always Dorothy this, au Dorothy that, and I was always left out au ignored. I remember having to shout to get people to look at me, and then they’d be all like ‘oh, I’m so sorry, didn’t see you’.
I remember what it was like when I didn’t like my sister, au at least, not much as I did when we grew closer. I adored her in the few years before she died, but there was a time that I didn’t want to be just like her.
You’d think in most situations when a newborn enters the family they’d be aliyopewa all the attention while the first born and others aren’t getting as much as they’d like. But in my family, that was sadly not the case. Dorothy was four years old when I was born, and already she looked gorgeous. An angelic voice, bouncy blonde curls, alluring blue eyes, she was like a poster child for a some beautiful exotic creature.
I, on the other hand, wasn’t blessed with her perfect features. My hair was a dull straight blonde, I’ve tried but it never was as bouncy and curly as Dorothy’s.
And my smile, ugh, it was crooked and ugly, and I felt that I looked like I was grimacing while trying to smile. Whereas, Dorothy looked picture perfect, photoshopped to amazing to be real.
I was like the opposite of her, and I hated it. I remember when there was birthday parties Dorothy had a whole ten of people, it was like we were at dance club with the songs and the so many people. Mine? About a few people who made some lame excuses during the party about homework (it was summer!) and leaving me all alone with no cake.
Of course Dorothy was there, even when my parents weren’t.
I remembered it, I was crying in the backyard, low small sobs increasing every second. I remember looking toward my meza, jedwali where my presents were supposed to be, I wasn’t greedy au anything, but it hurt to see nothing at all. Not even my parents bothered to give me anything, a rubber band would’ve been nice.
I was so angry that I threw the meza, jedwali across the yard, I stabbed the blow up pool and bounce house. I was about 9 here, before I met Jessica on my first siku in middle school. I had fallen to the ground kwa now, arms around myself, legs tucked behind them, in my own ball of misery. I cried everything that’s been eating at me ever since I was born.
Dorothy had just arrived nyumbani after a hang out with her friends, she didn’t want to ruin my party, and I’d been thinking if she had stayed maybe my Marafiki would’ve too.
She found me on the ground there, and she had cradled me, whispered sweet things into my ear, made me feel better, did what a good mother would’ve had done. She had a present in her hand and gave it to me, whispering happy birthday in my ear. It was a half of a best friend necklace, grinning she had showed me her other half, and a gift card for the mall.
It was one of the happiest moments of my life, I was the best friend of the girl everyone wanted to be Marafiki with, not only that she was my sister who loved me to. We hung out the whole siku and she gave me a proper birthday, ever since that day, we’ve been inseparable since.
Me, the girl who did everything wrong, was best Marafiki with the girl that did everything right.
*Thank wewe for all the mashabiki :) Hope wewe enjoyed, I moved my speech here. So please review and don't copy, because you've already read it.*
It's sad
It's the truth
Fighting through what it is
But I'll be stronger
I've gone through
Mounds of pain
I've been through
The deepest waters
Nobody can change my past
It's the truth, and it changed me
Sad to even hear the truth
Sad to...say the truth
Reality's always sad
And no one's gonna escape it.
It's how I became who I am today
It's how I didn't brag.
Why does this have to happen?
Why did it have to end?
Why does the world have to be so confusing?
Why did the fun have to end?
The world's just a crazy place
And no one's gonna stop that thought
Cause I'm broken for good...
Because of...the truth.
It's the truth
Fighting through what it is
But I'll be stronger
I've gone through
Mounds of pain
I've been through
The deepest waters
Nobody can change my past
It's the truth, and it changed me
Sad to even hear the truth
Sad to...say the truth
Reality's always sad
And no one's gonna escape it.
It's how I became who I am today
It's how I didn't brag.
Why does this have to happen?
Why did it have to end?
Why does the world have to be so confusing?
Why did the fun have to end?
The world's just a crazy place
And no one's gonna stop that thought
Cause I'm broken for good...
Because of...the truth.
Tell me darling why wewe cry,
Your tears stain the kitanda wewe lay upon
Could it be wewe miss the ones wewe clung to so tight,
Nothing but a scared little fawn
The flames burnt away your past and future,
The hate did nothing but balance your grief
What now? That’s presents question,
Something so fragile like a branch being clung to kwa a leaf
Where is your mother little dove?
What happened to those loving others who filled your empty nest?
How many word of the world can wewe rhyme with love?
Perhaps someday we will know with, proper care and rest
When pursuing dreams take chances and strive for nothing less than best
Then only then can wewe be sure you’ve completed life’s most demanding quest
Your tears stain the kitanda wewe lay upon
Could it be wewe miss the ones wewe clung to so tight,
Nothing but a scared little fawn
The flames burnt away your past and future,
The hate did nothing but balance your grief
What now? That’s presents question,
Something so fragile like a branch being clung to kwa a leaf
Where is your mother little dove?
What happened to those loving others who filled your empty nest?
How many word of the world can wewe rhyme with love?
Perhaps someday we will know with, proper care and rest
When pursuing dreams take chances and strive for nothing less than best
Then only then can wewe be sure you’ve completed life’s most demanding quest
Soar, soar
Soar beyond your wildest dreams.....
There's no limit
On how much wewe can soar
No one can
Break your wings and kill you
Soar for the skies,
Don't let the feelin go
Just soar, soar like never before
No one's gonna stop you
From believin
There wasn't a time
When nobody could never soar
But there was a time
When people never believed
And tomorrow
Isn't the siku to fall
And nobody's gonna push wewe down
Oh almighty eagle
We're gonna be the powerful eagles
We're not gonna let anyone
Be our ruler,
We're not anyone's slave
Almighty eagle
Oh soar, soar towards the sky's height
And soar toward your dream
Let nothing keep wewe away
Almighty eagle
Soar beyond your wildest dreams
And we're gonna fly tonight
Let nobody keep us down.
Life can be hard. Especially for me, Lily West, your almost-average 16-year-old girl. Most people think it's weird I'm bald. Others think I'm going to die. Then there's the occasional person who tries to take pity upon me. I'd rather they not, because some say it like I'm a helpless little kobe, kasa on its back. Sometimes I wish I die already, and sometimes I wish that I was a completely different person. Yes, it's tough having cancer. I just wish that they would respect me for a person instead of a helpless little bug.