My twin sister and I curl up on the sofa, reading a biography of Harry Houdini together. I devour the words, racing her to the end of each page. She abruptly sits up, gasping, “We can get appendicitis by getting hit in the stomach? And die?”

Seven-year-old me sees a quick way to disprove that.

I slap her stomach.

“You gave me APPENDICITIS!” she shrieks.

Shocked, I utterly forget my slap as she convulses in the throes of terror. It feels like my appendix is about to explode too.

“I’m dying!” she yowls.

Instinctively, I whisper, “Me too.”


Caring for my appendicitis-afflicted twin consumes my life. Our parents, fighting incessantly and about to divorce, are not confidantes. I take matters into my own hands. Anything that can hurt her goes on my “no-no list.” Swing sets are banned. Cartwheels are forbidden. Putting aside our usual competitiveness, I hide my higher test scores and resist bragging about winning the second grade spelling bee. Bravely sleeping on the outside of the bed, I prepare to square off against late night monsters.

I devise a ritual. Every night finds us with fingers linked, looking out through the window above our bed. The moonlight, broken by tree branches and the occasional peacock in flight, illuminating and casting shadows in equal measure, makes every night unbearably fragile. In light’s ethereal shield, I soothe her worries as we share our adventures, our thoughts, our desires. It feels like we never suffered the division of a zygote; we’re still connected in every single way.

In the ten years since, we’ve evolved: instead of protecting her from nighttime monsters, I now shield her from bullies and fattening foods. Moonlight talks have morphed into late night taco truck runs. She is my Secretkeeper and I am her solace.


My sister, the slap, and what ensued have left a lasting five-fingered mark, not on my sister, but on me. I feel a responsibility to help. I’m determined to leave my imprint on the world by taking care of others and speaking for those who don’t have a voice. For anyone in need, I am an overprotective twin.

For a dying mother, calling into U.S. Representative Judy Chu’s office and sobbing because her daughter in China can’t get a permanent visa for another five years, I worked overtime to find ways for her family to be reunited. For Asian Americans frustrated with being part of the largest ignored voting bloc in the U.S., I advocated for increased political recognition. For victims of the 2011 Tohoku earthquake and tsunami left without food and shelter, I threw myself into executing Interact Club’s Penny Wars, donating over $7000 to disaster relief.

I now have more people under my care, but I never forget my inspiration. So tonight, I will lie awake in a pocket of moonlight. I will fight sleep as long as I can, watching over my sleeping sister and the slumbering world.