I have, or rather, had a sister who is seven years my senior. It was not until I was a middle school student that I became aware of her existence. Before that, I had been completely in the dark about her being.

I cannot recall how the secret leaked out. The discovery made me as excited as shocked. It is rumoured that she was given away to one of our relatives at about 7 or 8. My family dirt poor at the time, my parents, chained to rural Chinese tradition, ached for a boy. The family planning policy at the time did not allow them to have a second child. Sending my sister away made a good excuse for them to have me borne into this world.

In my earliest memory, I was raised in a very small room. As a child, I did not know what the word bathroom meant. It was simply not part of my vocabulary. There was no such thing as a bathroom or a toilet in the one-room home. In primary school, my homework was done on a mini table mounted on the bed. Despite the spartan living conditions, I basked in an abundance of love from Mum and Dad, and there was no shortage of toys for me.

Last week, my classmate Alice asked me if I have a sis. Her question churned up mixed feelings in me, but I disclosed to her all about my newfound sister. The instant I was done, Alice said that she would have been saddened to death had she been abandoned that way by her family. Her reaction sent me visualising how my sister had felt then at the decision my parents made.

It so happened that two days after Alice asked me that question, I received a handwritten letter from Sister, inquiring how I was getting on with school. My sister is one of my WeChat contacts. To save time, I started a chat with her on the app.

The moment I mentioned in the chat the conversation between Alice and me, Sis became emotional and confessed, “It is true that I was heartbroken then. I was already 8 at the time.” My sis paused, and I thought I heard sobs from the other end.

“I remember all the details, Brother,” she went on, a moment later. “Let bygones be bygones.”

After another short pause, my sister resumed, “Now I am glad I have a cute son and a pretty daughter. I am also glad that Mum and Dad have looked after you so well. I do not hate them anymore. I am grateful to have you as my younger brother. You can’t remember how you kicked me in the back when we shared the same bed in that austere room, can you?”

Of course I can’t. I was but a baby then.

My sister is 7 years older than me. Outgoing and independent, she is a mentally tough lady. With a loving hubby and 2 adorable kids, my sis boasts a successful business that she has built from scratch.

Despite the dark past, we two still bond. Blood is thicker than water, as the proverb goes.