La vida con hermanitas

I am blessed that I have lived my life without siblings. I never had to share my things, the remote, my time, my room, my personal bubble. I never had to follow around in someone's shadow or be nagged by someone trying to walk in mine. I never had to worry that there would be a place for me to study quietly or that someone had left the empty toilet roll instead of replacing it. Essentially, I was (and am) a spoiled brat.

But things change when you go to other countries. You have to learn to adapt. And I am certainly doing that -- more and more every day. I am used to the squished concho rides, the rapid foreign language, the piropos that every man shouts at every woman who walks by. What I am not accustomed to, however, are the littlest members of my host family -- my two younger "sisters."

Wrapped inside each of their cute and innocent exterior deceptively lies a loud, rambunctious, nosy, jumpy, clingy, whiny, and spoiled little girl. There are days when doing homework in impossible due to noise or interruption. There are times when I have to stand and count to ten so I don't hit a child for strewing my makeup across the room and the floor. I can't count the number of times that I've had my diet pepsi slobbered in, my camera confiscated, or my computer banged on.

And just when I think I'm on the brink of a emotional break down, they go and do something cute. Just to spite me.