My Sister and I (part 1)

Breathe.sg’s note: Our siblings are our best buddies growing up, but what if they become their own worst enemies? Our reader shares his story. This is part one of our two-part series.

I have a younger sister, Mandy whom I adore very much. When I was young, I remember that I was lonely and often pestered my parents to play with friends.

I remember the day Mandy was born. I was two. I was mesmerised by her, and stood beside her cot for hours, staring at her little pink fingers and porcelain skin. I also remembered how I couldn’t wait for her to get bigger and play with me.

Fast forward 14 years later. Mandy and I argue at home from time-to-time, but we remain close as siblings. In fact, I am proud that I do not use the word “Best Friend” lightly to describe friendships, but I consider myself as having only three best friends – Jared and Benjamin (my classmates), and Mandy.

Mandy and I attended the same secondary school, and despite her being very active in our school’s gymnastics team, she excelled in her studies. I am always proud to tell people that I am her older brother.

It was not until four years ago that she announced that she was going on a diet to prepare for an upcoming lead role in the annual Singapore Youth Festival (SYF) dance competition. Little did I know, that was the beginning of her spiral into darkness.

Mandy began to lose weight from an already slender frame after becoming a strict vegetarian. My parents were concerned about the weight loss, but Mandy insisted that it was just from stress at school. Meanwhile, her vegetarian diet became stricter by the day.

At home, it was frustrating to see Mandy eat. She obsessively avoided carbohydrates, turned anything remotely greasy away, and weighed herself several times a day. She stopped joining us at restaurants during family outings, and she started to bring home-packed salads everywhere she went.

In fact, I hardly see Mandy anymore. These days when I get home from school, she would either be locked in her bedroom, or at dance rehearsals until late. When we go to school together in the mornings, it pains me to see her so frail.  She has a soulful empty look in her eyes and those skinny limbs – it seems as if every bit of sunshine has been zapped out of her.

I tried unsuccessfully on multiple occasions to speak to her about her eating habits and hectic school life, but she would turn defensive and simply wave away my concerns. By the time the SYF competition was over, she was virtually swimming in the over-sized school uniform and still insisted on the vinegar-drenched salads for meals.

I didn’t know what my sister was going through, but my instincts told me that something was wrong. She was always in some kind of PMS mood, getting emotional and crying at the slightest provocation.

Her behaviour made it difficult to approach her. I didn’t know how I could help. I didn’t know if I would do more harm than good if I did.