The fruit of Labor

My sister told me her friend's story that night, in my room, while she snuggled herself comfortably on my soft bed which is larger than hers. I sat on my favorite chair, facing my computer. This situation had been one of our usual one-on-one talk.

The Fruit of Labor

Second semester in college—we're at my room, my sister and I. She had been begging me to eat at the restaurant today because it was her turn to cook dinner, and she was not in the mood for frying breaded chickens. I was not in the mood to listen to her squabble.

"C'mon" she insists, hugging my Cinderella pillow tightly. "I'll treat you to McDonalds if you want." Sorry but your convincing powers don't work for me anymore. I shook my head and focused my attention completely to the computer screen.

"Wait" she says, standing up and dropping my pillow on the carpet. "Let me check my facebook account" What the—? Give me one word to describe my sister and if I don't say dominant; I would give out the word crazy.

I roll my eyes as I type www.facebook.com I was not surprised as she unreluctantly steals the mouse from my hands. I just let out a small sound of protest but this was my all-powerful sister—she does what she does best. If I say I loved myself, she would love herself more. If I say I don't care about the world, she would actually care lesser. My sister is almost perfect for others. My parents are so proud that they'd tell me "You know you should be more like your sis—"
    Ahh! Stop. I don't want anybody to say it again.

Moving on, she surfed the net and I was there, staring at the computer screen. Margareta always loved facebook, friendster, multiply, blogger—and all those sites where you can connect with people.

Many would admire her beauty. The real difference between my sister and me is really seen on the physical outlook. She's too sexy and I'm too skinny. Though I eat lots and lots of food, I don't get fat. Blame the set point and the genes. She knows the right angles in posing in front of the camera and she has the face and the makeup of a celebrity. I had the face and the powder of a baby.

"You know" she mutters, her face still focused on the screen, but is now looking serious. "My friend saw two fruits today" And so? I wanted to say. But I couldn't destroy the momentum.

"I don't know what fruit it is but she told me that one is an overripe and the other one is still about to ripe." She continues. Come again? I do not understand where this is all leading to but I remained silent.

"And that dense girl actually related it to our course" she adds. Both of us are student nurses, my sister and I.

I looked at Margareta and her faced showed no signs of humor in them. I thought his was one of those where she tells a serious story and ends up leaving it as a joke. This was not one of those times.

"How could she relate that to BSN?" I ask, curious of her story.

"Well, you see. By the time my friend graduates, she decided to take accountancy and by that, she'll never work as a nurse. But after seeing the two fruits, she realized that she spent four years trying to finish this course. She's not even sure if she would love accountancy—but this course, she knew by heart, thought it can be really exhausting." I absolutely agree. BSN really is fatiguing.

She goes on; "She noticed the overripe fruit. And she said to herself 'if only somebody picked up that fruit, then it wouldn't have been wasted. Somebody could've enjoyed its sweetness.' Then she turned her head to face the unripe fruit and told herself 'I hope this fruit gets picked before it gets to be like the overripe one' and then she realized something. The fruits symbolized her in a way—her path. She realized that if she head on to accountancy, then all of her efforts, all those blood, sweat, and tears that she sacrificed to graduate from this course would be put to waste if she did not use it at all. It was then that she decided to work as a nurse, because happiness does not mean doing what you love to do, but doing what you have to do" she says, closing the facebook application in the computer.

"She's right" I say, nodding.

I looked at my sister; she was facing me now, with an awkwardly serious face. She's about to graduate from nursing and maybe she will also follow the advice of her friend's story.

I place a questioning look on my face—she was still staring. It's weird, even for my sister.

"That's why I told you", she sighs. "You should shift your course before it's too late"

And I was dumbstruck.

We ate at the restaurant after that.