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The Day My Sister and I Danced Forever
A love letter to my sister this Valentine’s month
More than three decades ago, while waiting in that tiny apartment, I could feel my young heart racing with anticipation. I couldn’t help but think about the countless days I had spent wondering about my sister.
We had been separated for what felt like an eternity, torn apart by circumstances beyond our control. I was just a baby, and she was about three when our father passed away.
My mother, struggling to make ends meet, had to leave my sister behind with relatives while she brought me along. She tried to run a buy-and-sell business, which involved traveling to different places.
Sometimes, my sister and I reunited. Those brief instances flicker in my mind like distant stars. Though the details were hazy, as I was too young to recall everything clearly, I could vividly picture her: she had large, dark eyes that sparkled with delight, framed by beautiful curls hanging over her cheerful face.
I remembered the deep sense of safety she had provided, always standing as my shield against the mean kids. Her forgiving nature shone through in every interaction, a gentle reminder of how much she cared for her little sister, even when my actions might have tested her patience.
