Everyone in my family has brown eyes. My mom’s eyes are tigers. Bold and courageous; never afraid of what other people think of her. And me, my eyes are like plain Jane on a boring summer day. They’re as ordinary as a spotless whiteboard— but my eyes, my eyes don’t judge. My dad’s eyes are focused. They never stray off their destined path and don’t have tolerance for distractions. No tolerance at all.

But my sister’s eyes turn the first page of a book. The first page that holds animation and anticipation. They dance with the excitement of youth and give wonders to the world. They are deep pools of warm chocolate, never seeming to end. Her eyes are always happy, twinkling with the joy of a childlike fantasy that only exists in her mind. The excitement, the twinkling, and my sister’s chocolate eyes.