THE SEVENTH YEAR

You know what they say about time? About how people used to think of black and white, of good and bad or of being rich or poor? But it has always been time. Time is the only real thing in this world. Time is the one thing that matters because it is  the enemy.

I remember during the first three years after my sister's death, my concern was still being alive despite the fact that she's gone from this world. I don't want to live long enough because I thought I would never make it without her. Nothing will never be the same again because she's gone. Then the next three years was just letting the time pass. My thoughts are full of at least trying to live so when I got to see her again, I'll be able to tell her all the things I did after she goes first. Eternity is forever, what will we do with it but to talk and love each other. I wanted to make so many memories, happy or sad, it doesn't matter, I have to fill myself with stories that I will be able to tell her. I also noticed how the people who knows her suddenly stopped talking about her. How they suddenly forgot that I was once had two sisters. How my family were able to smile and laugh again despite the fact that we are broken. Her pictures in our home doesn't change. Her clothes and things were intact and untouched. It was the world around us that changes. It was the people and it was me. Time changes us.

Today was her 7th death anniversary. I will never get comfortable with using the word "death" or "dead" because I think she will only be dead when no one in this world will be able to remember her and I am still here. Me and my family is still here to live with her in our hearts. But time, being the greatest thief of all, seems to slowly take her away from us. It's slowly stealing away the memories. It's making us forget of her voice, of how she laugh, shout, cry, walk, run, stare and everything else in between. Time is slowly taking her away from me.

That is why I always made sure to write it down. I have to spend a day like this in order to remember her and write her down. Maybe if I do this time will fail from making us forget. As long as I live my dream will be to honor her. Of making the world know that she once lived with me here in this awful and yet beautiful place. Memories are very fragile things. The feelings with them fades quickly. But I have to remember. I have to remember her so I can have a courage to live.