24 April 2007

“Girls, run down to the provision shop across the road and get a pack of salt for me.”

A sigh escaped my lips. Another errand to run would mean another time of shouldering the responsibility of being the “big sister” and looking after my “little sister”. Yes it was true that I was two years older, but Krystal was thirteen! Not a six-year-old kid who can’t tell salt from sugar…

As expected, our mother dolled Krystal up, teasing back the stray strands that had escaped the baby pink barrette that secured her dark hair at the nape of her neck and smoothening the creases in her already impeccable knee-length white silk dress.  Our mother cupped Krystal’s face with both hands and gently reminded her precious daughter to be careful and to come home safely.

Straightening up, she turned to me, her gaze stern. “Make sure you take good care of your sister.”

I sighed inwardly. Stupid me. Why do I keep clinging to that sliver of hope that one day, just one day, she would once again see me as her daughter, Jessica, and not “the elder sister of Krystal”? Resisting the urge to retort, I pressed my lips into a thin smile and nodded mutely instead.