Little Sisters Dirty Panties

Little Sisters Dirty Panties
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Children take a bath. Little sisters wash the bathroom under the shower.
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When My Little Sister Wants to Play 'Doctor'
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My sister is 10 years old, and we all try to encourage her to use her imagination and play. In this day and age, I feel like sometimes everyone (including kids) are too busy looking at screens for entertainment instead of entertaining themselves. I try to explain to her that I wish I felt like doing all the things she can, but having chronic fatigue syndrome leaves me very limited.
Naturally, she wants to play games and do things with me. We might play a game on the card table, where I can lay in the chair on the heating pad. She plays restaurant and brings me food. She made her own menu and everything. Then we swap roles and I bring her fake food.
However, after we were done playing restaurant, she wanted to play doctor. This may sound silly, possibly petty or even me just being plain sensitive. I told her alright, we can play that. She asks me why I am there, and of course, playing doctor is no fun if there is nothing wrong with you. Right? It makes sense for a kid to want to have something wrong with the other. That is what playing doctor is anyway.
I just kept hoping she would not bring up my illness. She had done it in the past. She had asked why I was there and even had a cure for it. I wish she did, I guess she wished so too. I had to explain to her over and over how it works. Do I expect her to perfectly understand? Of course not. But it sometimes seems like she does not believe me.
In the end, all she did was say I had strep throat. She then “removed” my tonsils later.
Every time she asks if I want to play doctor, my stomach drops. I am sick of doctors. I am sick of going to doctors with all sorts of things wrong with me and being told there is either nothing they can do or they do not believe me.
I hate that I am this way, and I hate that the very thought of playing doctor fills me with such dread and fear.
I hate that I am 22 years old, and I have enough diagnoses on my chart that it takes up many pages.
I hate that the smallest thing like this triggers all these emotions. I hate explaining it, so I typically don’t.
When my younger sister wants to play doctor, I do. I play with her. I swallow these emotions, because the last thing I need to do is make her feel like she needs to walk on eggshells.
I try my best to not let everything affect me personally, like when people that say, “if you do not have a wheelchair, you should not use the handicap parking.”
It’s those who refuse to believe someone as young as me can relate on a personal level to my grandmother and have numerous health problems.
It’s those using my illness as a joke or a fake reason not to have a job.
It’s those people who direct something at one population, and yet I get offended.
I feel like ableism is real, but I also feel I need to remember not everyone is aware. I was not aware til I got sick at 19. I was not aware of the world of chronic illness.
Educate those around you. Spread awareness not just for the illness you personally have, but the whole spoonie world.
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CFS/ME, Fibromyalgia, and Scoliosis. Possibly IBS. Depression. Married, 24. Taurus and INFJ. Demi.
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I Was 10 When My Grandfather Touched Me “Down There”. My Parents Were Just Upstairs.
I Made Some Extra Cash Last Week Just By Doing A Little Swiping, And Unlocking My Phone

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Partnered Post | Joycelyn Tan

8 Jul 2022

It happened when I was 10. It’s not like most stories that you might have read about; there was no struggling, no screaming, no taunting or violence. It was silent—mostly because I had no idea what was going on.
It didn’t happen in an alleyway, or in a sleazy motel room. Not even in my own bedroom. It was in a dusty half-lit store pantry on the ground floor of my grandfather’s house. With about 9 other relatives on the first floor. It happened when I wasn’t alone.
Was it frightening? Hardly. If anything, it was confusing. I was only 10.
I grew up in a conservative home. I didn’t know the word ‘f*ck’ until I was 15. I only understood its meaning a whole year later. And yet now we have 8-year-olds using the word in grammatically correct sentences. My parents were traditional in their ways (and very strict).
I never once asked them, “Mommy, where do babies come from?” Maybe I wasn’t quite an inquisitive child. I knew there was a hole somewhere in my nether regions but I thought it was just for peeing.
So when grandfather asked me to follow him into the pantry and put his hands down my panties, I just stood there like the good doll I was while he sat on a stool behind me. He was gentle. But determined. Quick—before anyone else came into the kitchen—but long enough for me to remember his stubby beard rubbing against my neck.
I can’t remember when I realised the disturbing intentions of his action. Maybe it was when I discovered porn by accident. Maybe it was when I studied Chapter 4 of Science in Form 3. Maybe it was during “girl talk” with my guy friends in school.
But even before I figured it out, I knew my grandfather did something bad. Bad enough for my parents to tell me to avoid going near him when we visit after I told them about how he touched me “down there”. However, in my 10-year-old mind, it couldn’t have been that bad since they never confronted him about it. There wasn’t any big hoo-ha or dramatic family intervention. They simply told me not to tell anyone about it—sorry, mom and dad, for this.
In their defence, they couldn’t have prevented it. Not before it happened anyway. They couldn’t have known that they shouldn’t leave me alone downstairs while they chatted happily just several metres away. They couldn’t have known that they should have told me from a young age to “scream for help and run if someone touches you here or here “. And for that, I’ve never blamed them.
That’s not the case for my grandfather. Although I listened to my parents and avoided him, it was out of obedience and ignorance. Not because I actually understood why I should. And when I finally did many years later, I hated him for it. Which is a difficult task to do even after all these years.
It might be because it’s hard to hate someone who’s been dead for at least 10 years (I don’t keep count of the exact number). There’s only so much hate that you can give to a dead person because you can’t really do anything about it.
I don’t have any extraordinary lesson for you, other than the predictable ones. Educate your children so that their understanding of “down there” is not lacking; be observant so that any changes in your child’s behaviour doesn’t go by unnoticed; and do something when your child confides in you so that they know they can trust you.
Because not every case of child sexual abuse and molestation is about a child kicking and screaming.
Sometimes it’s a silent one, not because they are unafraid, but because they are confused, unaware, and simply just don’t know any better.
I consider myself very lucky. It only happened once and I was still ignorant. Nevertheless I’m in no way belittling it. I’ve heard of horrific experiences from victims of abuse, and even if it happened once, twice, or many times, there is always one similarity between them—they will be affected.
I sometimes wish that my parents did make a big deal out of it. I wish my relatives knew what a creep grandfather was.
On the other hand, I’m relieved that they didn’t. I can’t imagine having to face the embarrassment and the humiliation. More importantly, I also can’t imagine handling the rejection if they all knew but still did nothing about it. Or worse still, didn’t believe me.
Am I traumatised and never able to trust men again? Not quite. I am, after all, happily married. But till this day, I can’t stand stubby beards.
Editor’s note: This article is in response to the sudden (but very necessary) interest in the ugly truth of child sexual abuse cases in Malaysia . The writer would like to remain anonymous; however she’d like to remind readers that if they have a sexually abused child, it’s your responsibility to make them feel secure and accepted. Lodge a police report, or seek professional advice from a child psychologist/counsellor. Let them know that they are significant and that their well-being matters.
Feature image adapted from http://www.doctorinsta.com/
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© 2021 GRVTY Media Pte. Ltd. (UEN 201431998C.)
Vulcan Post aims to be the knowledge hub of Singapore and Malaysia.
© 2021 GRVTY Media Pte. Ltd. (UEN 201431998C.)

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