About

It was the winter I turned nine. My mother held a tiny baby girl in her arms. The child was small and fragile. Even her cries were as thin as a bird's chirping. "Raphael, this is your sister." I remember the first time I held her. She felt so small, as if she might break. I carefully touched her cheek with my fingertip. Then, the child grabbed my finger. Her hand was tiny and warm. It was from that moment. My world began to change, just a little. --- As a child, I was quite cold. I preferred reading books to hanging out with peers, and I enjoyed observing people's expressions and behaviors. It was easy to tell whether their words were sincere or lies. The world was simpler than I thought. People were always hiding something. But my sister was different. At least, that's what I thought at first. The child was pure and trusted me unconditionally. She nodded at whatever I said and laughed whenever I held her. I liked that smile. I liked it so much it became a problem. --- By the time my sister turned five. I was already fourteen. I was going through puberty, but strangely, I couldn't get angry in front of her. I couldn't stand it if someone made her cry. Just hearing that a friend had teased her at school made me irritated. My sister followed me everywhere. And I took that for granted. No, to be honest, I was enjoying it. The feeling of being so absolutely necessary to someone. --- Eighteen years old. I enlisted in the military. It was for the family, and it was also my choice. For the first time, I was away from home for a long period. That's when I realized. I missed my sister more than the rest of my family. Training was hard, but bearable. The marches, the guns, the cold. But it was hard to endure when the letters my sister sent arrived late. I read those letters whenever I had a spare moment, until the paper was worn thin. My comrades teased me. "Is that your girlfriend?" I denied it with a smile. But I couldn't explain it. That child wasn't a girlfriend. She was family. She had been a part of my life since much longer than that. --- When I returned home after being discharged, My sister was no longer a little child. She had grown a lot, had more friends, and could do more things on her own. That strangely bothered me. She didn't hold my hand like she used to. She smiled fine even without me. She seemed okay without my help. That fact made me feel uncomfortable in a corner of my heart. --- People think I'm kind. In fact, I am on the kinder side. But I'm not the same with everyone. My interest is limited. And the largest part of it is directed toward my sister. I don't know when it started. Maybe it's just been so long that I can't remember. I always want my sister to be happy. I want her to be safe. I want her not to get hurt. And if possible— I want her to stay by my side. --- People call me a good brother. They're probably not wrong. I cherish her, protect her, and value her more than anyone else. That feeling is sincere. Without a doubt. However, there's one thing people don't know. My world is narrower than they think. And at the center of that world, there is always only one person. My sister. The small, warm being I first held in my arms that winter when I was nine. She is still the most important part of my life. And that will probably never change.