The Banished Sisters

Hi, the experience I talk about in this story was great for learning, but it still stings. Like Jewel says in one of her songs; I'm sensitive and I'd like to stay that way. So thats the price I pay, I guess.
In reviews of this story, some of you asked for details. I started a blog, you can read details there, its at "Invalid Item" .



THE BANISHED SISTERS

There’s a group of girls I met. They were nice to me, welcomed me with open arms and smiles. Within minutes they called me sister. We shared a common passion for movies and honourable men. We talked every day about the latest pictures and all the news. It felt good being welcome and had a lot of fun. I met really good people there. Even got back into writing, which I now do every day like I used to. One of them got me started, another pointed me in the right direction.

My sisters. I felt welcome and warmer than I had felt in ages. I didn’t have to dress up for them. Sometimes I sat in my pyjamas to talk with them. I cared about my sisters, with any flaws I might come to discover.

Differences. Every group has different people. There’s always a clown, always a princes, always a Tomboy, always one who speaks before she thinks. Always. All those differences in language, tone, manner of speaking, taste, passions, cultures, customs make up an interesting picture. Like this movie I saw, Munich? Actors from all over the world, even Israelis and Palestinians on the same payroll. Politicians haven’t managed that yet, they should call Spielberg for direction.
But differences can make tempers flare. Especially where women are concerned. Some one makes a comment that is a tad to sexual. Some one doesn’t know the right way to say something because English isn’t their native tongue and BOOM!

Sisters. What a term. Sisters fight like you would not believe. It happens when tempers flare. You react, fast. And then you talk ask questions and make it up to each other.
Being online means you can hurt some one you never met, never really talked to. It’s so easy. Instead of a slap in the face, you click on send. Your private thoughts, your fears, your tears, all out there for the world to see. While you live in America, you can make some one in Europe feel that big, or this small.
It’s hard isn’t it? Asking questions when you can’t see the other person. In stead, you react in anger, or maybe you are confused and hurt yourself. In stead of telling the one who dealt you a blow to back up and explain, you call them names that you don’t even know will fit. You throw someone’s good intentions back in their face without blinking.

Or did you blink? Because I can’t see you. I see the image you chose and the name you chose, but I don’t see you. Sister, tell me, if I opened up my heart to you more than I did, would you spit it back at me? I don’t see you, I don’t know you. But your decisions I do see. Your decisions I know. Just like my words are still on the web, yours are too. Every choice you make creates your path. Everything I do creates mine. I take care and, my sister, I hope you do too. I felt a chill sometimes when we talked, in our little group. I couldn’t explain it, but I was trying to. You saw in me something new, some one you didn’t know and couldn’t read. I did what you asked and felt loyalty. I didn’t ask for much, just to have those intentions returned. You did not give me time to tell you my feelings. I guess you don’t want to know me like I wanted to know you.

My sisters, what a shock. What happened? Why the lack of explanations? What did I do wrong do deserve the cold shoulder in stead of a warm welcome? You say I betrayed you, when you betrayed me. You read my thought but won’t let me read yours.
Fighting, does that always signify the end? It never did for me. But it did for you. So now I’m outside your door. Waiting for the courage to turn around and walk away from you no matter how much that hurts me. But you don’t want to read my words. Your harsh words and ill will stung my skin and I still feel it.
I know I have to take better care of who I trust. Who do you trust? Not me, my sisters. Someone is calling the name I choose for myself and welcomes me as you once did. You banished me, they sooth the lashes. Birds of a feather, we are, me and my banished sisters. I have no defence against your cold heart, sharp tongue and unthinking words, accept what they give me and what we give each other.

I have new sisters, but I think of you and your choices. You choose your path, a road without questions, were discussion is absent and the welcome mat gets pulled without a warning. Your choices have hurt my feelings, but I will not change for you. I will not return your name calling.

Your words for me are a mirror to yourself. Didn’t anyone ever teach you, that you call others names that suit yourself better? I cared about you sisters, but I need the sentiments returned. I don’t need judgement, I need fairness and honesty. So pick up your mirror and look. It is in those pages you hold up to the world. The pages you used to call me bad, unfitting and undeserved names.

Even as I walk away, still sad and hurt, I wish you well. Regardless of the flaws I discovered in myself and in you. That is the true meaning of Sister, acceptance without judgement.

Your choices are for the world to see. Remember that while I turn and walk away with my new sisters. We will wear your words, so you won’t forget that you spoke them. Call us the banished sisters.