My earliest memory of my not-so-little-anymore sister was the day my dad took me to the hospital to meet her for the first time. I was so excited to see her, I even had a greeting card in hand as a welcoming gift. Extravagant for a three-year-old in a third world country, I know. She was this tiny, round, pale little thing that I just couldn’t wait to play with. But that wouldn’t last long.
I call her many things now, but the first nickname I ever gave my sister was acaba-mundo, meaning world-ender. She just had this singularly annoying way of destroying everything I loved. I was always so eager to play with her, but every time I would share my toys she would break them, and any time she got the chance, she would bite me. And yet, my parents will tell you that I was the one who would let her bite me, because I thought it would help her teething. When I was four, I even went so far as to wrap my finger in a blanket so that it wouldn’t hurt me as much and she could still soothe.
When we got a little older, we began fighting incessantly. Over everything. The remote control, the shower, the passenger seat, you name it. It often got violent, and I have the nearly invisible scar from a scratch on my left cheek to prove it. (If you’ve never seen it, you just haven’t looked at it under the right light, but it’s there). She also got a kick out of torturing me: I’m never gonna forget THAT April Fool’s joke. But I got her back eventually by convincing her that I could/would eat her liver in her sleep.
Our arguments became less physical and more petty in adolescence, but even my mom knew that she couldn’t get in between us when we fought. Because as loud and frequent as our fights were, we were the only ones who knew how to resolve our issues among ourselves. Usually with food as a form of apology. Thankfully, these days we only bicker occasionally, because if she could punch me now, I’d be knocked out in seconds flat.
For a long time, I was the irritating, nerdy goody-two-shoes that she hated being compared to, and she was the petulant, unaffectionate troll who got us both in trouble for her antics. But even through all that, all I ever wanted to be was the cool big sister that she could look up to.
If I’ve made her out to be a villain thus far, do not be fooled. You should be so lucky if you ever have the pleasure of meeting Lorena Canal. Despite her tough and sometimes acerbic exterior, she is kind beyond reasonable measure. She’ll go out of her way to make the people she loves know that they are loved. And she’d just as easily drop all civility to fight for them. She is intelligent in ways people don’t expect or often appreciate. She is hilarious to the point of literal pants-pissing. And to this day, getting a laugh out of her is still a highlight of my day, often still feeling like that toddler eager to make a baby smile at me.
When we were younger and fought too much, our parents often told us that instead we needed to look out for each other, because in time, when everyone else was gone, we would be all we had left. And I think we both see that now. Not because we are incapable of creating and cherishing nurturing relationships elsewhere, but because this love is truly incomparable, and there’s no one I can be my true weird self with quite like I can be with her.
They say it’s customary to dedicate your first book to your parents, but mine weren’t so lucky, as in 1st grade I wrote my very first book entitled Lorena Number about a girl who loved numbers. As fate would have it, Lorena hates math, but she is still one of my biggest inspirations.
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Lore, thank you for being you, and I hope we can continue loving and encouraging each other, and growing into the people we know we can be.
Love,
Seester
P.S. I loved Shrek first!!!
Ramblings of a Loud Pacifist Redux 