Sisters By Chance
Bright crimson-red cherry blossoms bloom as the bursting lanterns, flaming sky of fireworks, and sweet aroma of fresh buns and dumplings beckon me to stay out. Metallic crackles of Bismuth are like lily roses in the sky, blooming light on to a new Lunar year and to the birth of my little sister, Vy, in 2007.
I hated her presence the first time, annoyingly cringed as she cried whenever Mom was hugging me for attention. Not only did she take away my affection, when I wanted for her to play Barbies with me, she would dispute by flinging the plastic doll away whenever I handed it to her. With every adult in my household always being busy, I have no one to hangout except for her. Despite her aggressive behavior, she intrigued me. From her cries, twitches, to giggles, I found them to be amusingly cute.
Each time I brought up my distress, Mom kept reminding me, “Sisters by chance.” Mom always told me the story about how Vy, my sister, was unexpected. Being her sister is unexpected, but a privilege.
I did not realize how important that privilege was when I grew up. Despite our on and off relationship, hate and love instances, we were always inseparable. Vy took the image of Mom, and people always told me I look more like Dad. Her small almond, dark brown eyes crinkled up whenever she finds a joke amusing. Her nose resembled a button in between the corner of her eyes, fit perfectly to her cupid bow lips. There is something about being in a household full of adults that surprisingly made us closer the way we are.
After school, we would take a long walk home. Taking up half of the sidewalk, we would skip cheerfully while humming Disney songs. We blocked almost everyone on that street as we notoriously skipped to “Hakuna Matata” and “A Whole New World.” They would glare at us, giving us looks. I can envision that, in their minds, they must’ve been so angry with “children this age.”
Bright crimson red cherry blossoms bloom each time we walk, gliding from song to song. Someday we would sit down underneath a blossoming tree, wishing that we do not have to grow each year. I did not realize how important the privilege of being with her was when I grew up.
Like lyrics to a melody, we flow naturally to each other. Our identities depend on each other. When we remember back to our first encounter, we learned what is meant to learn how to be vulnerable, and to see a person for who they are rather than what they can do for us.
We complete each other.
From the way we look,
The way we sing and skip
and the way we thought.