My Sister

My Sister

In my life I have only written about my sister two times, this being the second.

I know it wouldn’t be enough even though I wrote of her hundreds and thousands

of times. In my deepest heart she is my sister, but is not just so: She is my childhood protector, puberty peer, and bosom friend after we grew to be adults.

When she was seven, and I five, we went to the kindergarten together. It was she

who helped me carry my stool lest it was too heavy for me; it was she who stood

up for me whenever some mischievous kids in school attempted to bully me; and it was she who took meticulous care of me in the absence of our parents, who that

time were always too busy to come home early.

Later on as we finished elementary school education and went to junior high school, we boarded in the school due to the distance between the school and our home

. Our parents asked my sister to look after me, as well as her herself. So she did. Like as I was pretty picky in food, she always saved me what she thought that I would like by the excuse that she disliked them. I took all her did for granted and failed to appreciate her concern for me until I myself grew mature years

later and had my own beloved one to care.

2001 is a momentous year for me. In the year I said goodbye to my four-year monotonous work in the local medical organization, and walked into the university that I had being longing for years. I couldn’t say it was dependent of solely my

own efforts that made it happen, but of all my beloved family and friends, my sister surely being one of them. At least it was her guarantee to help me with my

tuition fees that downrightly cleared up the anxiety of my parents.

I couldn’t figure out who had contributed the most to my realization of university dream. But later by recalling, I saw clearly the figure of my sister in the

river of time. It was she who showed me from the start that life could be more than just work without passion, that going to university could not be a sheer fallacy, and that one’s life without study was incomplete and regrettable, if disregardful.

That was the first time that I wrote her down into my journey, and while writing

, the tears couldn’t help running down my cheeks. I never vocally expressed my

gratitude to her, as that was something I was never good at. But deep in my heart, I knew my gratitude of her was deep and my tears were out of gratitude and affection, which overpast all the words could tell.

Four years have passed by since then. There have been many changes taken place in our life. I have finished my university life and am working onto the next destination I set for myself, and she has changed her job for times and now lives in

the different city from mine. But even so, when she heard of my sickness days ago, she ceased not to call me and asked me to take good care of myself.

People say when one gets sick, he/she knows more who really cares about him/her.

I don’t know if the saying is right, but I do know that she was the person who

called me daily, who instructed my friend to cook light and nutrient soup for me, and who made sure that every day I took the medicine without delay. So she may be not the sole person who cares about me, she is surely to be among them.

Caroline