Memoir

By Stefanie Huang, Del Norte High School 26'

"Serendipity (Colors in the Right Places)" By Leanne Fan, Westview High School 26'

When I was born, my brother and sister were eight and four years old, respectively. Growing up, I loved telling other people that my siblings and I were all born four years apart. I would douse my voice in extra eagerness as I added on “all in leap years too.” I felt special for being a part of a birth pattern with my siblings, something extraordinaire than simply existence.

Certain memories seeped up a few years ago, feeling a bit like a feverish dream: the person I remember being and the things I remember doing all seem unreal. What is distinctly clear is this: An afternoon of vacation when I was six, we stopped at a souvenir shop and my parents told my sister and me that we could each purchase one gift. I chose a stuffed animal, a soft gray wolf, which instantly set off reactions from my sister.

“She already has so many stuffed animals” (I did), or “How come you guys always let her go for the expensive things?”

They were valid concerns, but six-year-old me knew no better aside from my sudden feelings of betrayal. I left the shop that day with a new stuffed animal in my arms, and the pedestal I innocently tossed my older sister onto fracturing in shards.

Growing up and going to school was peculiar for my sister and me. We had gone to different schools throughout our academic journey. I was too young to be in elementary school together with her. When I moved up to middle school, my sister would be in high school. She went off to college when I entered high school. The separation between school and other extracurricular activities caused us to be physically and mentally apart, leaving an irreparable dent in my relationship with my sister. When I was younger, my sister and I could and would fight over everything. We fought over who got the last bit of cereal. If one or the other was too loud in the next room over, we would get in an argument over that too. I often thought about being able to recall earlier memories with my sister, perhaps between the

ages of three and five, where anger was less quick to rise and naïveté had us believe we had all the time in the world to love each other.

I was about thirteen years old when I had a taste of sisterly affection that felt unconditional; my vivid memories allowing me to cherish it unintentionally. It was almost midnight and I had been bawling into the furs of my beloved stuffed animals when my sister peeked through my door, dropped three pieces of candy in front of me, and left with no more to say than, “Do you want some candy? Take some.” I had matted my precious gray wolf’s fur with my tears, ate the candy all too quickly, but at that very instant, I felt more comfort than any hug or words of encouragement I had ever been bestowed.

When my sister left for college half a year later, she loved the freedom and independence she encountered. I thought she would never miss home, but in random evening calls, the excitement in her voice when talking about coming home for winter break was clearly present. I knew that she, in her own way, cared.

A couple of years of slowly mending cracks in our relationship would not be enough to bridge the gap created over the years, but I wish to get to the other end of the tunnel where I saw a beaconing light. A satisfying conclusion was due sooner or later. Good memories that one remembers and desires to keep will leave an impression deeper than the disconcerting ones.

I look forward to weaving a kaleidoscope of family reminiscences…