Oriana Isabel Aguas Carvajal
October 31st, 2013
I Am In Love
Those memories of the years before her blend within me. Those years with her are more clear and tangible; for those years are only two so far. She has become a vital organ of my being. She - within her precarious existence - is the world that surrounds me.
I am from a marvellously underestimated country in South America called Colombia. The country is bathed by tons of water running down the stream of hundreds of rivers. The fauna and flora are diverse which allows the country to be as colourful as it gets. I lived in an average house with seven members of my family. I remember going to school, playing, eating delicious food and everyone's smiling faces. The time spent and memories made there are now merely a fragment of my being and of those who shared moments with me. They are images of what used to be my small and secured world; which my brain recalls when I am absent minded and nostalgic.
Then I moved. Living in a strange land with mosaics of unknown and aliened costumes felt much like what a tiger who was raised in captivation and liberated to the wilderness would feel. There was so much newly acquired freedom yet no courage to use it. Inevitably, those are the days I recall less. For they are an endless sea of memories of those dolorous thoughts which my conscious brain triumphantly suppressed away in my subconscious to be stored and not remembered.
Then she appeared. She was like a cold breeze of dry air which comes so handy during summer and so unwelcomed in winter. Suddenly, I became familiarized with my surroundings and everything that was aliened to me transformed into my new home. The days seemed brighter. The letters that formed foreign words became understandable and I started enjoying the people around me. I tried my best at everything for she was there looking over my shoulder. She was not judgmental; in fact, she precariously imitated my doings regardless of their rightness or wrongness. When we first met, her wondering eyes met my eyes wondering about her. How this malnourished world could possess such a beautiful being? I remember every detail. It was one of those gorgeous days in June when the weather is warmly template. I had just been dismissed from school on one of the last days of my high school's freshman year. Somehow that day I was tentatively nervous. My feelings were revolting inside me as if they were battling for a meager time to be the predominant feeling in my head. I continued on with my day until at last my deprived and tired brain was captivated by the sight in front of me. My first thoughts were that she was splendiferous; marvelous, beautiful; pure, innocent; and, interesting. Thousands of overlapping questions flooded my head, all analyzing a shared topic: her. My brain was overloading however it was capable of capturing a mental picture of her that day; which I still dearly retained within my memory. Everything and everyone else around her were blurs outshined by her pureness. Her petite composition was perfectly distributed and her extrovert eyes concealed her speech impairment. To put it in one word she was perfect.
As time passed I proportionately introduced myself into her life. I learnt that she was often nursed because she had a feeble composition. Later I took upon this task, wherefore my egoistic feelings became stronger. Little by little she became fond of me and since I was already bearing loving yet deceased feelings for her, I was patient. I remember the time when her lips awkwardly touched my cheek for the first time. I had asked for this affectionate demonstration during various occasions before but she had always avoided the matter. It was a short pick on my cheek that awed my soul and initiated a series of joyful feelings which spread throughout my body. That was how I realized that she had become start and end of my every day. She alone turned what I had titled my enemy land into my home. The decisive factor in any of my decisions. My everything. My beloved one.
The anterior story may be referred to as a love story. Indisputably, it is a love story. However, it is not the conventional love story which most people are accustomed to. The person in the story, who remained unrevealed, was my toddler sister. Everything described in the story is sincerely how I feel about her. I invite you, dear reader, to reread the short story now that your knowledge does not allow assumptions to take place. The story remains the same but the deeper conceptual meaning of the words change. It is indeed a love story expressing how dear my sister is to me.
As a teenager I am often asked 'have you ever been in love?' to which I always reply 'yes, I am currently in love'. The expected follow up to this conversation is the curiosity about who is the individual that I love. After learning that it is my sister who I love they immediately say that it is not what they meant. But I believe my answer is just as valid as any romantic feeling towards a partner. As the story from before describes I care about and love my sister. However, if the identity of the main character was kept secrete the common assumption would have been 'she was describing love towards a mate'. The story could be about a lover while remaining unchanged. It would be just as valid. Thus my answer to this overrated question is completely valid. I am currently in love and that person, who has the ability to make me smile just by existing, is my sister.