An Ode to Kris

It’s my sister’s birthday.

She’s 25 years old now and she has her own baby. In my mind though, she will always be my little sister – my baby.

I have 25 years worth of memories of her. Good and bad.

She used to make doodles on my books. She was stuck at home and I was in 1st grade. I was so mad when I saw stick figures doodled on my book and her explanation was, “Well, the little boy was so alone, so I drew a friend for him.” Our walls then were also full of her doodles.

She had a bald patch when she was in Kindergarten. I only learned now that bald patches appear when kids are emotionally troubled. You see, our mother left to work abroad when she was only 2 years old. I learned then how to make braids because I had to fix her hair and hide her bald patch.

She could dance like there was no tomorrow. She still can. She could dance 2 hours straight. She was a ballet dancer and I was so proud that she could do a mean and straight pirouette like no one in her class can. She is still a pretty mean dancer. One time, we dared her to dance alone in an empty dance floor when we went clubbing with our cousins. She did! She was great.

She has always been talented though. She’s also a very, very good writer. She’s, in fact, better than me. She always won our family’s beauty contests because she was just way too smart even though our cousin was the beauty.

She listened to my stories. Our Barbie dolls were Kris Aquino and Tim whats-her-name, a Filipina singer. When we had no Ken, we used a ruler. She suffered from one love story to another.

We will turn over the folding bed and we were suddenly on a flying carpet. Our father was always furious because we kept breaking the bed. We were playmates. We had great adventures climbing walls.

She learned how to read from me and I tortured her while teaching her. I made her kneel on salts!

There was this one time when I bumped a kid and the little boy was rushed to the hospital. I was so scared and people were telling me he was dying. I remember kneeling by the bed, praying for God to save the boy and I was crying. Suddenly, I heard someone sniffing behind me. It was her kneeling, praying and crying as well.

We weren’t always good friends and sisters. We had our quarrels too. God! Our quarrels were always World War 3. She gives as good as she gets – in fact, she has the foulest mouth when mad. We had a huge quarrel one New Year’s day and we broke our bedroom’s door. She was angry because she wanted to go to our Lola's place for New Year because of a boy -- her first major infatuation and I didn't want to leave the city.

We pretty had huge quarrels. One time, we quarreled while playing chess and I punched her right on the face.

My sister has a nasty sense of humor. When we were in High School, she would used to pretend to be bawling and she would shout quite convincingly, “Aagghh!!! It hurts, ate!" She gave such a great performance of being in severe pain – being severely beaten that our poor old grandmother would climb upstairs, shouting feebly, “Tere! What are you doing to your sister? Tere!” And the “poor sister” continued on with her drama while grinning from ear to ear. My poor grandmother died never knowing the truth.

She's so mean that when she does not want to share her food, she’d spit on it, so she wouldn’t have to share.

One time, she went to McDonalds and she proceeded to talk and place her order using this voice that someone with a harelip or a cleft palate would use. She loves doing it though. One time, we were trying to buy something from this make-shift store and she did the cleft-palate voice again. I stood there rolling my eyes while the lady she was talking to struggled to understand her.

My sister suffered me all her life. Our parents bought us a double bed and I wanted the upper bunk, so I did. When we were in Brunei, I would let her find our seat while she fights the horrible stench inside the bus while I wait outside. Well, she probably has a really, really long list of grievances.

I have so much to say, countless stories to tell, but a 25-year worth of memories cannot possibly fit in one entry.

We’ve been through a lot. She’s one of my best friends. In truth, she probably knows me better than anyone else. She’s also the person I wouldn’t think twice jumping in front of a bus for or killing anyone for. She has always got my back and I've always got hers. We were each other strengths and comfort while growing up. And I guess she is my favorite person in the world. Growing up, I probably loved her more than I loved our own mother.

And it’s her birthday. She deserves to have a really, really wonderful one.

I love you, bi! Happy Birthday!