I had sister-complex.

My older sister started work early this year and believe me, working as a doctor will suck your life up. Or not. I am a writer and I fancy my coffee, reading, and writing time. I call this productivity masked with pleasure; she calls this indulgence.

She works forty hours per week (plus overtime) and on the weekends when she has days off, half of them will be used spending quality time with her boyfriend. That leaves me about a quarter of her free time.

And I used to not be okay with it.

Truthfully, I am not okay in sharing my sister with anyone. And since getting together with her boyfriend late last year, her time for me has been dramatically decreasing. Of course, she needs to catch up with her friends and spends quality time with her boyfriend, but I feel left out.

One day, I was crying on bed at night, for my sister chose to spend her Saturday with her boyfriend, yet again.

“Why are you upset?” my sister asked me, frustrated. I have turned myself from a happy-go-lucky girl into one snobby, irritating hulk.

“Because you always put me on the last of your list, as if taking me for granted,” I said.

Perhaps, it was true.

Or perhaps, really, I was just lonely.

Someone who I care about dearly had just moved overseas earlier this year. I had to face the truth that he wouldn’t be able to accompany me on the weekends or weekdays, and I had been mourning. I wanted to be selfish and taken care by everyone else. I wanted to be pitied.

Some Saturdays I would bother him miles away, constantly messaging him while he was out with his friends. I would turn to this horrible beast and demand him to cater to my needs.

And more than ever, I wanted my sister to fill that gap for me.

She told me later about her priorities. About life, about time-management, and about me needing to understand her. Everything is not the way it was before. And we need to make adjustments.

I think, I was just lonely.

I was not a social person. I seldom asked people to go out with me. Perhaps it was my ego, but I used to want to be asked. But that’s not the way it works.

Later I realised that this needs to stop. That I need to get a life. I packed my bags and began to fill my days. I began to socialise more, to ask people out without waiting to be asked.

You know, I think, we are all just waiting to be asked.

I spend the days forcing myself to get out of the house and make sacrifices. I invest in people. I invest in my friends. I have coffee, read books, write articles, and watch movies by myself not because I have to, but because I want to. I begin to change my attitude, and it’s been, really, really fulfilling.

My sister told me one day that I am not clingy anymore. That I have began to take responsibilities, clean the house, and plan my days. She still sees me on the sofa while watching TV and scolds me, and tells me that going for coffee is an indulgence, though.

But I have a life apart from her, and somehow, I have learned to become independent.

I have a responsibility of living my life, and I have stopped relying on everyone else to fill my days with activities.

I stop waiting to get picked, and get a life instead.