21/12/2340

Dearest Reader,

Where do you think I should begin?

I could begin with my childhood. I could begin with my home... I could also begin with who I am today.

Or I could begin where my story began... My family.

And what I remember of them...

I don't remember my mother; she died when I was too young to remember.

I remember my father. But he wasn't the one who raised me. He was a scientist, who was involved in independent research in pharmacology, to create a new drug that could help patients with PTSD and trauma. His research was his life. The lack of recognition and remuneration he received frustrated him. And as he was independent - not affiliated with the government, educational institutions or organisations - he had to fund his own research, which put him in debt and made it difficult to maintain his lifestyle as well as our family home in the City. And by the time I was 7, he had to move us to the outskirts, which he could afford. This only contributed to his stress and torment.

My father wasn't the one who raised me.

But I could understand him; in between all his frustration, there was no way he could have raised me. He also did not have the time or energy to give to me.

It was my older sister, Catherine, who raised me.

I don't remember her age; though if I had to guess, it would be that she was about 10 to 12 years older than me.

My sister brought me up as though I was her own daughter.

She took care of me. She took care of... Everything. She raised me with happiness. She took care of my food. She ensured I received all my needs and wants. She gave me an education. She took care of teaching and mentoring me on the differences between right and wrong. She made me who I am today.

My sister was also a scientist.... But - when we were moved to the outskirts - she had to give up on her dreams and the future she desired. Instead, she put her time and energy into me...

To give me all that I desired.

To make me happy.

To give me an even better life.

To make my dreams come true.

To give me a future.

And I had all of that.

But then, in the blink of an eye, all that I had was gone.

It was that day... The day that my sister disappeared.

What was home to me? I thought it was just a house; made of bricks and mortar - but I was wrong. It was only when she disappeared that I realised what home was to me...

Home, to me, was Catherine.

Rose