My sister Amy, the queen of arguments, can be such a pain in the butt--she is stubborn like a knot, moody like a teenager and sensitive as a bruise. The thought of her leaving for college was somewhat of a guilty pleasure. I could finally have the bathroom to myself, finally have power over the remote control, and finally be able to eat a candy bar without having to share! The worst part about living with her was when we had endless arguments about whose turn it was to wash the dishes … endless. Freedom at last! Yet, when she left, all I could think about was how things were when she was still here, and how much life had changed since.

“Remember how jie (sister) would sing like we were deaf when washing the dishes? Or how she would laugh at her own lame jokes when no one else did? Or how she could always strike up a conversation with random strangers everywhere she went?” Thinking back on these silly quirks, I realized she constituted a big part of my life. As clichéd as it sounds, I did not know how unprepared I was to live without her.

It was my first time at one of the parties the embassy held for the Taiwanese anniversary, which took place at the Four Seasons hotel. There were warm, lustrous lights upon the guests; polished silverware that glistened under those same lights; soft, carpeted floors; long, elegant dresses of all colors; and slick, ironed suits. It was sheer elegance and luxury. I stared wide-eyed at my surrounding; like a toddler who had just received the world’s biggest ice cream. It felt so surreal.

People slowly trickled in and I was assigned to pass out the pamphlets to each of the guests- something I preferred immensely over conversing with strangers. Most of these people I had never seen; yet I was introduced to various of them, which was an exciting, yet terrifying, experience. In the past, when we were at these events, I would always cling to my sister. Later, when we were introduced to some stranger, she would do all the talking, while I would be on the side smiling and nodding at the appropriate time. It was the perfect arrangement: She could talk to strangers without being alone, and I could be part of the conversation without actually having to talk. Since she was now half way across the world and unavailable, I was left with the heavy responsibility of carrying on the small talk.

“Oh what I would give to have my sister here to help me out.” I kept waiting for her to emerge from those big, heavy doors so that I could hide behind her and avoid all the uncomfortable situations I would encounter soon, but evidently, she never came. I walked around anxiously, trying to avoid my mother, who I predicted, would drag me around, introducing me to random strangers that she knew. My instinct proved me right. Sure enough, I was soon introduced to a journalist from Tandil, so I proceeded with the typical social protocol…

“Hello! How are you? Good? I’m glad. I’m great as well, thank you.” That was it.
3 speedy seconds; that was how long the whole conversation lasted. There was nothing else to talk about. I didn’t know whether or not it was going to be a deep, personal conversation, or simply an acquaintance’s small talk. Slowly, the silence emerged, slithering out of nowhere … that deadly, uncomfortable, awful silence that I feared so greatly. I glanced nervously around the room, trying desperately to find something, anything, to say or comment about. Nothing! Asking about how the party was going was too boring and it was nighttime, so I couldn’t talk about the weather either… My mind went empty like it would on a pop quiz. My body heated up like an uncontrollable bonfire. I was squirming around in my shoes, twisting my hands and fumbling with my cup. My heart pounded ferociously through my chest; I was very surprised people around me could not hear how violent it was thumping. In reality, the silence probably lasted 3 seconds as well, but it felt as if time was slowing down just to mock my social awkwardness. Should I make up an excuse and leave? or should I just stand there and slowly sip out of my cup, and pretend like I was not bothered at all by this silence?

“Anytime now, Amy, you can come back already! You can’t just abandon me like that!” I thought to myself.

Feeling as stiff as the burritos they were serving at the buffet, I asked awkwardly “So…how’s it going?”. It was the only thing I could think of. Eventually, the conversation carried on. It quickly became less uncomfortable, and I even started to enjoy it! It was a great relief. Despite the continuation of my nervous laughters, I eventually stopped fidgeting and the tension loosened up.

“I did it! I did it! I don’t need my sister, I can do this all by myself” I thought to myself shamelessly.

For 16 years, I have hidden behind my sister in times of distress. She was my shield, my boundary, my safety net. When she left, it was as if I was a baby bird being pushed off the tree; being forced into learning how to survive on my own.
Nonetheless, that day I walked away from the event with my head held high and with an optimistic feeling about the future because I had leaped into the unknown and I was finally flying on my own.