There are few times when I wished that I was wrong. Completely, totally, utterly wrong.
"Remember that time when you went to watch the movie and Ibu picked you up late because of me?"
I had to smile when I saw that message pop up on my MSN. That must have been a decade ago, a long time ago in a galaxy far away.
"Yeah, of course I remember," I wrote, "I waited for two hours. Should've called Ibu or something."
"Yeah," she said, allowing herself to be momentarily blanked by silence. "I'm sorry about that."
I laughed. Somehow, time is not just a great healer, for it can also be a stand-up comic by itself, rendering moments of fear, anger and frustration into laugh-out-loud moments viewed later through the kaleidescope of life. "It's OK."
It's through that same kaleidescope that I look back to four months ago, wondering and even deeply questioning my sister, Yaya. I had doubted that she had the temperament, the temerity, and the tenacity to pull things together and make things work. To rise above herself, be more than she had been before.
There are few times when I wished that I was wrong. That was one of them.
"Yeah," she wrote. "You wanna know what happened?"
"OK," and a small mystery in history was solved ten minutes later. A moment not recalled for a while, but one that came back with such aplomb, answering questions asked but lost in those ten intervening years.
My wish came true, for I am wrong.
Yaya proved me so.
And I couldn't be happier.
I'm proud of you. You have done well thus far. Keep the faith, and know that the good moments and the bad lasts not forever.
And if they do, then you only need to turn and see me standing there next to you. With you.
I love you.