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šŸ‚ The Sister Beyond the Window


私が6ę­³ć€å¦¹ćŒ5ę­³ćć‚‰ć„ć®é ƒć€‚ć”ć‚‡ć†ć©ä»Šć®å­£ēÆ€ć€11ęœˆć®å°‘ć—å†·ćŸć„é¢ØćŒå¹ćę—„ć§ć—ćŸć€‚

When I was six and my little sister was five.

it was around this time of year — a November day with a soft, cool breeze.


ē§ćÆęŽƒé™¤ćŒå„½ćć§ć€ć„ć¤ć‚‚ē„–ęÆć«ć€Œę‰‹ä¼ć£ć¦ć€ćØćŠé”˜ć„ć•ć‚Œć¦ć„ć¾ć—ćŸć€‚

ć‚‚ć”ć‚ć‚“ć€ćć®ć‚ćØć«ć‚‚ć‚‰ćˆć‚‹ćŠå°é£ć„ć®ćŸć‚ć§ć‚‚ć‚ć‚Šć¾ć™ć€‚

I loved cleaning, and my grandmother often asked me to help.

Of course, the pocket money I got afterward was part of the motivation.


ćć®ę—„ć‚‚ē„–ęÆć®å®¶ć®å¤§ęŽƒé™¤ć‚’ę‰‹ä¼ć£ć¦ć„ć¦ć€ē§ćÆå¤¢äø­ć§ēŖ“ć‚’ē£Øć„ć¦ć„ć¾ć—ćŸć€‚ć‚¬ćƒ©ć‚¹ćŒć¾ć‚‹ć§å­˜åœØć—ćŖć„ć‹ć®ć‚ˆć†ć«ć€ęŒ‡ē“‹äø€ć¤ę®‹ć•ćšē£Øćć®ćŒå„½ćć§ć—ćŸć€‚

That day, we were doing a big cleanup at her house, and I was completely absorbed in polishing the windows. I loved making the glass so spotless that it seemed to disappear.



å¦¹ćÆē§ć®ćć°ć§ć€ćŠć—ć‚ƒć¹ć‚Šć‚’ć—ćŖćŒć‚‰č¦‹ć¦ć„ć¾ć—ćŸć€‚ę‰‹ä¼ć†ćØć„ć†ć‚ˆć‚Šć€ćŸć äø€ē·’ć«ć„ć‚‹ć®ćŒę„½ć—ć‹ć£ćŸć®ć§ć—ć‚‡ć†ć€‚

My sister stayed close by, chatting while I worked.

She wasn’t really helping — just happy to be near me.


äŗŒéšŽć®éƒØå±‹ć§ēŖ“ć‚’ē£Øćēµ‚ćˆćŸćØćć€ćµćØę°—ć„ććØå¦¹ć®å§æćŒć‚ć‚Šć¾ć›ć‚“ć€‚ć€Œā€¦ā€¦ć‚ć‚Œļ¼Ÿć€ćØę€ć£ć¦äŗŒåŗ¦č¦‹ć—ć¾ć—ćŸć€‚ć™ć°ć—ć“ć„å¦¹ć§ć‚‚ć€ć“ć‚“ćŖć«ę—©ćéƒØå±‹ć‹ć‚‰å‡ŗć‚‰ć‚Œć‚‹ć‚‚ć®ć ć‚ć†ć‹ć€‚äøę€č­°ć«ę€ć£ć¦ēŖ“ć®å¤–ć‚’ć®ćžććØć€å°ć•ćŖę‰‹ćŒēŖ“ć®ćƒ˜ćƒŖć‚’åæ…ę­»ć«ć¤ć‹ć‚“ć§ć„ć¾ć—ćŸć€‚

After I finished one of the upstairs windows,

I turned around and noticed she was gone.

I blinked, looked twice.

Even for my quick little sister, there was no way she could’ve left the room that fast.

Puzzled, I looked out the window —

and saw two tiny hands gripping the window frame.

She was like this.

ć€Œå¦¹ćŒēŖ“ć‹ć‚‰ļ¼ć€ē§ćÆå«ć³ćŖćŒć‚‰éšŽę®µć‚’é§†ć‘äø‹ć‚Šć¾ć—ćŸć€‚äø­åŗ­ć«å‡ŗć‚‹ćØć€å¦¹ćÆåŠ›ć¤ćēŖ“ć‹ć‚‰č½ć”ć¦ć‚¦ćƒƒćƒ‰ćƒ‡ćƒƒć‚­ć®äøŠć§ę³£ć„ć¦ć„ć¾ć—ćŸć€‚ćć®ćć°ć«ćÆć€ē“ ē„¼ćć®ę¤ęœØé‰¢ćŒēœŸć£äŗŒć¤ć«å‰²ć‚Œć¦ć„ć¾ć™ć€‚

ā€œMy sister is out of Window !ā€

I screamed and ran downstairs.

In the courtyard, she had collapsed and fallen out of the window.

She was sitting on the wooden deck, crying.

A terracotta flowerpot beside her had split clean in half.


ē„–ęÆćŒć™ćć«ē—…é™¢ćøé€£ć‚Œć¦ć„ćć¾ć—ćŸćŒć€ć©ć“ć«ć‚‚ē•°åøøćÆć‚ć‚Šć¾ć›ć‚“ć§ć—ćŸć€‚å¦¹ćÆä½“ćŒćØć¦ć‚‚ęŸ”ć‚‰ć‹ćć€č½ć”ć‚‹ć®ćŒäøŠę‰‹ć ć£ćŸć®ć§ć™ć€‚

My grandmother immediately took her to the hospital,

but she was perfectly fine — no bruises, no breaks.

She had always been flexible, maybe even goodĀ at falling.


ć‚ćØć§ć€Œć©ć†ć—ć¦č½ć”ćŸć®ļ¼Ÿć€ćØčžććØć€å¦¹ćÆēœŸé””ć§čØ€ć„ć¾ć—ćŸć€‚ć€Œęœ€åˆć«ēŖ“ć‚’ć®ćžć„ćŸćØćć€ć‚¬ćƒ©ć‚¹ćŒćŖć„ćØę€ć£ć¦é ­ć‚’ć¶ć¤ć‘ćŸć®ć€‚ę¬”ć«ć‚ć‚‹ćØę€ć£ćŸć‚‰ć€ä»Šåŗ¦ćÆć‚¬ćƒ©ć‚¹ćŒćŖćć¦č½ć”ćŸć®ć€‚ć€

Later, when I asked how it happened,

she said with a completely straight face:

ā€œFirst, I thought there was no glass and hit my head.

Then I thought there wasĀ glass — and there wasn’t. So I fell.ā€

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ćć—ć¦ä»Šć«ćŖć£ć¦ę€ć†ć®ć§ć™ć€‚é ­ć‹ć‚‰č½ć”ćŸć®ć«ć€ēŖ“ęž ć®ćƒ˜ćƒŖć‚’ć¤ć‹ć‚“ć§ć„ćŸćØć„ć†ć“ćØćÆā€”ā€”äø€å›žč»¢ć—ć¦ć¤ć‹ć¾ć£ćŸćØć„ć†ć“ćØć€‚ćŖć‚“ćØć„ć†é‹å‹•ē„žēµŒļ¼é‹å‹•éŸ³ē—“ć®ē§ćØćÆę­£ååÆ¾ć§ć™ć€‚

Even now, I think about it and laugh.

If she fell headfirst but still managed to grab the frame,

she must have spun in midair.

What athletic reflexes!

The total opposite of me, the clumsy one.


ć‚ˆćč€ƒćˆć‚Œć°ć€ćć‚“ćŖēŖ“ć«ć—ćŸć®ćÆē§ćŖć‚“ć§ć™ć‘ć©ć­ć€‚ćć‚ŒćŖć®ć«ć€ę°—ć„ć‘ć°ć¾ć‚‹ć§č‡Ŗę…¢č©±ć®ć‚ˆć†ć«čŖžć£ć¦ć—ć¾ć†ć€‚

ć‚ć®ę—„ć‹ć‚‰ć€ēŖ“ć‚’ę‹­ććŸć³ć«ę€ć„å‡ŗć—ć¾ć™ć€‚ēŖ“ć®ć“ć”ć‚‰å“ćØå‘ć“ć†å“ć€ćć®é–“ć«ćÆć€ć„ć¤ć‚‚ē‰©čŖžćŒć‚ć‚‹ć€‚

Of course, I was the one who had made that window tooĀ clean.

And yet somehow, every time I tell this story,

it sounds more like a brag than a confession.


ä»ŠćÆé«˜åœ§ę“—ęµ„ę©ŸćØć„ć†ä¾æåˆ©ćŖćƒ†ć‚ÆćƒŽćƒ­ć‚øćƒ¼ć§ć€ć‚ć£ćØć„ć†é–“ć«ēŖ“ęŽƒé™¤ćŒēµ‚ć‚ć‚‹ę™‚ä»£ć«ćŖć‚Šć¾ć—ćŸć€‚ćć‚Œć§ć‚‚ē§ćÆć€åŠå¹“ć«äø€åŗ¦ć®ę„½ć—ćæćØć—ć¦ć€é™ć‹ć«äø€ęžšćšć¤äøåÆ§ć«ē£Øć„ć¦ć„ć¾ć™ć€‚

Ever since that day, I think of her whenever I clean a window.

Between the inside and the outside,

there’s always a story waiting to be seen.


å®¶ę—ć«ćÆć€Œć‚‚ć†ćć®ćøć‚“ć§ć„ć„ć‚ˆć€ćØčØ€ć‚ć‚Œć¦ć‚‚ā€”ā€”ćć‚Œć§ć‚‚ć€ēŖ“ę‹­ćć‚’ć‚„ć‚ć‚‰ć‚ŒćŖć„ē§ć§ć™ć€‚

My family tells me, ā€œThat’s enough already, ā€but I just can’t stop cleaning windows.

Sometimes, a simple household task holds a story worth keeping —

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Sometimes, a simple household task holds a story worth keeping - one that still makes me laugh and pick up the cloth again.


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