My Little Sister

by Joshua Lim (5 Setia) 2009 The first shimmer of warm morning sunlight shone through my window and lit my room during the wee hours of the morning. I awoke with a start. I could feel the chill March wind blowing through my window gently brushing against my skin, sending shivers down my spine. After washing up and having some breakfast, I immediately proceeded to the storeroom to do something that I had always wanted to do before but was prevented by numerous excuses my mind seemed to generate clearing up the old cupboard. First, let me give you a brief introduction about the old cupboard. The old cupboard was indeed very, very old. You can consider it primeval. It existed before I was born and was continued to be used during the early chapters of my life. My parents and brothers cleared away all their belongings from the cupboard many years back. However, if you know me, procrastination was my second nature as my mind would be flooded with uncountable excuses each time I thought of clearing the old cupboard. Nevertheless, today was different. I had to find an excuse not to follow my dad to the market this morning. Of course, I used cleaning the old cupboard as my excuse. The old, worn-out cupboard stood there alone in the dull, dark corner of the storeroom. As I moved towards it, I could feel my heartbeat racing. I did not know why. Somehow the old cupboard had a dark history behind it. As I opened the lowest drawer, my eyes suddenly caught a glimpse of something red clipped between some books. As I took it out to get a closer look, I found that it was a red ribbon. Memories of immense pain and the dark times my family experienced immediately came flashing into my mind. My family consists of my dad, my mum, my two brothers and I. That was what everyone thought of our family. Few knew the secret and those who knew dreaded talking about it in fear of bringing back the dark memories to the family. Soon, those few too, forgot. She was born to us on a stormy night in the year 1994 right after her twin brother. A miracle baby. That was what the excited doctors called her though some others whispered in low voices. Before her delivery, the doctor told us that her chance of survival was very slim or almost none at all. The reason, the male foetus, which is my little brother, consumed almost all the nutrients my mums body supplied and left almost none at all for the female foetus. However, the doctors completely changed their views after her successful delivery. Even stronger, she did not cry but smiled at the doctors after the delivery. Due to the two strange phenomena, the doctors named her a miracle baby. However, some doctors disagreed and said that a baby that did not cry during delivery was abnormal. Of course, our family looked on the bright side. She was really a miracle baby to our family. Her name was Jasmine. Jasmine was the most cheerful baby girl you could ever see. She would just smile at you and touch your hands every time she saw you. However, at the age of two, our worst fears were confirmed she was mentally retarded. Maybe she was not a miracle baby after all, my parents thought. She could not even say Papa or Mama at the age of two while other children were busy learning their alphabets. However, she would rush to my mum and dad when they came back from work, exhausted and tired, and gave them her little sweet smile while tugging at their hands. She would also do that to my brothers and I. We really adored her. To us, her smile was the only good thing in this world and she was the angel of the family, always bringing us joy and happiness through her little smile.

Sadly, she went through a terrible experience in play school. One day, as I walked past her class in play school, I decided to visit her. To my horror, I saw a girl slapping her on the cheeks while she was helplessly smiling at her and the other children were cheering that girl on. I was terrified and my heart broke. I quickly shouted at the children and ran towards them. I hugged Jasmine tightly while tears streamed down my face. She just looked into my eyes and gave me her little smile as if reassuring me that everything was fine. At the age of four, she suddenly collapsed in front of us. She was rushed to the hospital and was diagnosed with fourth stage of leukaemia. It was a race against time. During that time, having fourth stage of leukaemia was as good as dead. Time was running short. Finally, my dad made the most painful decision he had ever made in his whole life she was to go for chemotherapy. She was only four years old then. She lost all her hair within weeks of the treatment and was frequently vomiting. However, every time we went to visit her, she would smile sweetly at us despite the intolerable suffering she had to go through. Many months passed, she was still lying on the hospital bed with her frail body getting weaker and weaker each day. Nevertheless, the little smile had never once left her pretty face. It was on a gloomy afternoon in December that she left us for good. We went through really hard times after that. Up till today, I still miss her a lot as I recall the happy memories I had with her. Every now and then, I wish that I could see her little smile. Just a little smile.