It was yet another warm day in the summer of 2003. It was Saturday and we, my sister and I, were bored. We wanted to do something fun, just to take away the lingering silence in the room due to the recent departure of my father to Cambodia. Ama was in the kitchen, preparing our lunch as we sat in the bedroom. Then, my sister had an idea.
There are some things that you used to do as a child that now you are not so proud of. This was one of those things. I was just eight and my sister was five. We were kids. Today I am a little embarrassed to say what we used to do: we imitated wrestlers. Yes, we would just be in our underpants, running around a short, round table facing each other. We repeated the word "yah" over and over again, raising our voices as we said it. Then, with a last yell, we would attack each other, whether it be jumping on one another or pulling the each others legs. I am surprised I still remember those days but I know we had lots of fun doing those crazy things.
However, that particular time, things turned out different than usual. After the ultimate yell, I jumped at her and started chasing her around the table. I caught her, she tried to get away from me, she tripped, and fell. Hard. She banged her head against the corner of the wooden frame of the bed. She rebounded from the crash and fell to the floor. Her head was bleeding and she had fainted.
My mother rushed into the room and saw what had happened. Ama rushed her to the hospital. With anticipation, I waited for their return. They came back after a couple of hours. Beside the couple of stitches on her head, my sister was back to normal. However, I wasn't.
I felt guilty and disappointed at myself. I was supposed to be the elder sister. I was supposed to be taking care of her. I was supposed to be more responsible. So, the eight-year-old me promised that we would never play that godforsaken game ever again.
