SOMETIMES when I get too caught up with my work or fretting about ''worries,'' Heaven manages to remind me to take the time to step back and celebrate the many gifts life has bestowed on me. These gentle nudges come in different disguises and manifest themselves unexpectedly on different occasions.

Just a few weeks back, I received another such ''call.'' This time, it came in the form of a small pop-up book called ''My Sister, A Treasury of Companionship.'' It was from my sister, alright, who, in hurried and almost illegible handwriting, wrote, ''Saw this in London, I thought about you.''

Now, you must understand that my sister is not the ''ma-regalo'' type. And whenever she does give a gift, the token is usually inexpensive but priceless in terms of meaning and impact (she's the type who would give you a copy of your first paycheck with a touching dedication). Usually, too, there's a message behind her choice of item.

The booklet came with a big bar of chocolate contained in a box that indicated it was bought in London. I asked my helper who received it if the package came with anything else. ''No, that is all, Ma'am'' was her reply.

Now what could my sister mean this time? I gingerly fingered the tiny pink and peach booklet with the cute drawings of two smiling women on the cover. It was a short read, about 12 pages, in which were written 11 quotations from several American English writers and poets. I leafed through the book several times, delighting in the pop-up drawings and the cryptic verses, looking for clues but finding none.

As I closed the book, a tender feeling of missing for a kindred soul immediately took hold of me. It's been awhile since I last talked to my sister (blame it on our crazy schedules)--in fact, I didn't even know she was in London until a few days after she left (see what I mean?)

In the past, we've always managed to keep in touch. But these last few months, there seemed to be dearth of time and energy (mostly from my side) to maintain contact. I remember her telling me once, ''Hey, keep in touch-you're the only sister I have in Manila, you know.'' I would always say yes, of course, and keep my word, too.

Until lately. And now, this book.

''Having a sister means having one of the most beautiful and unique of human relationships. We share with our sisters a special intimacy, a communion of heart and mind more powerful than friendship,'' the book said in its introduction.

A flood of thoughts and images engulfed me as I recalled the many milestones and everyday ''whatevers'' that I have shared with my female sibling. Only now, as they come tumbling in my mind, I realize that the landmarks and the ''regular'' stuff now weigh equally in importance in assisting me to acknowledge and appreciate the person I have become because of the things we have gone through.

The following are three of the verses lifted from ''My Sister'' that I relate to the most, coupled with my recollections. I share them with you confident that they reflect the universal experiences one goes through with the best buddy one will ever have:

''… our sisters hold up our mirrors: images of who we are and of who we can dare to become.''-Elizabeth Fishel (b. 1950), American writer.

My sister and I are complete opposites. She has always been the prim and proper type. The one who finished her studies on time. The one who got a master's degree abroad before marrying her first boyfriend. The one who holds a reputable job. The one who keeps company with the movers of society. Everything in order, spic 'n' span.

She's everybody's idol and apple of the eye-from my parents down to our cousins and inaanaks.

I, on the other hand, am everything my sister isn't. I still have a few units left in college. I had a predilection for lakwatsa during my time. I had a slew of boyfriends before finally settling down.

My work revolves around the circus-like (but merry!) world of show business. I count the masa-friendly but irreplaceable Angge, Unggay and Maristella as my friends. You could say I am the black sheep of the family. Everything my sister isn't.

Still, we do share some things:

Like a love for bazaars and outings, for example. My sister used to invite me to go out and check this bazaar with the ''gorgeous antique table'' on sale that's ''perfect'' for her living room.

On my part, I would treat her and my family to five-star hotels and restaurants just so I could take her away from the typewriter or computer. We also love family reunions and hold one at a drop of a hat.

Looking further back, I could say that her passion for stories of human interest rubbed off me. I remember going with her to interview a balut vendor (I went in the hopes of meeting cute guys) and even ''modeled'' for pictures (I posed as if I was buying balut).

That was my early taste of working as a disciple of mass media. I eventually levitated towards broadcasting, while she gravitated towards print.

''You can't think how I depend on you and when you're not there the colour goes out of my life.''--Virginia Wolf-1882-1941, English writer.

Maybe this verse pertains more to me than to her.

I remember a time when I called up her house to ask if my staff and I could hold our ''Eye to Eye'' meeting there. When I asked her helper if my sister had guests in the house, I found out that all the RAM boys and some important people were there! I immediately decided to hold our meeting elsewhere (I mean, can you imagine me, Angge and Unggay mingling with Gringo Honasan and Tina Monson-Palma, discussing the latest on Guy and Vi?!)

One time, my sister gifted me with a collection of my old love letters wrapped inside a Rustan's package. Don't ask me how she got them-that remains a mystery to me to this day!

Reflecting on the incident now, you could just imagine how those tons of letters from different boyfriends (and I'm younger than my sister by several years!) must've looked to someone who married her first boyfriend. I laugh inwardly at the thought.

Another snippet from the past: I remember a time when my Dad (14th Battalion Commander BC1) fought in war-ravaged Korea. My sister refused to put on powder and cut her hair until my father returned safe and in one piece.

I would've died.

''For there is no friend like a sister in calm or stormy weather; to cheer one on the tedious way, to fetch one if one goes astray, to lift one if one totters down, to strengthen whilst one stands.''-Christina Rossetti (1830-1894), English poet.

In 1996, I underwent a bypass. While I was in Makati Med, I found out that my sister was on her way to visit me. After an unreasonably long time, I phoned someone to ask what was keeping her.

I found out that my sister has been circling the vicinity of the hospital for hours trying to muster the courage to see me (she doesn't like scenes that involve sickness or death). Eventually, she finally went up to see me. She broke down, of course.

My sister has always been supportive. In the last few years, I have asked her for many things and she always delivered. One time I borrowed cash from her and I remember telling her, ''This is such a humbling experience.'' Handing over the money to me with a smile, she wittily said, ''Alam mo, you're still not humble. Otherwise you wouldn't even say those words.''

Is my sister lovable, or what?

I miss my sister. She's not only a buddy or confidante to me but a soulmate in the real sense of the word. We know each other inside-out.

As one of my favorite quotes in the book goes: ''We are sisters. We will always be sisters. Our differences may never go away, but neither, for me, will our song…''

My sister is my best friend, my idol, my champion. Not having heard from her for so long, I realize that I don't want to reach the point when it would be too late for me to tell her how important she is in my life.