It's My Sister's Birthday

My sister is not my best friend. Despite this dynamic most same-gender siblings fall into, I would not really call my sister my best friend. Yet, the bond we share runs deeper than that of friendship, not defined by the blood we share and not bound by the expectations of what a sister is supposed to be. Over the years, my sister has become my rock, my lighthouse, my beacon of confidence. She is not my best friend, but she is much, much more than that to me.

My sister and I did not grow up close. In fact, I can’t recall a conversation we had prior to when she graduated high school. There always seemed to be a disconnect between us, not rooted in rivalry or hatred but just a distinct difference in age and maturity that prevented us from experiencing the younger years of our girlhood together. Looking back now, it is a bit of a pity that we were robbed of cherishing this relationship, but we were only so little. There is no blame to place. All the more reason to express gratitude for the connection we have now. But, even at such a young age, despite the fact that we lacked any solidarity and I really only perceived her as an extra closet to steal from, there was something in me that always felt like I had a safety net. Back then, we could be silent with each other for days on end, not out of hostility or anger, just pure indifference, but still, I knew she would be the first I’d call in any emergency. That fact has not changed to this day.

Being a younger sister isn’t something I can quite put into words. With my sister and I, it’s more of a feeling, a constant reassurance as I grow through the different stages of my life. I’ve always known her, but now I really know her. My mom and dad are tough on her in a way they aren’t with me. Sometimes it makes me angry, how unfair it is on her that she has to carry the brunt of their cruelty sometimes. But for some callous reason, it seems to be universally understood that that’s what an older sister’s role entails. Being a younger sister is funny because I was born knowing her. Being sisters will outlast any marriage, survive the death of parents, a bond that will always find their way home to each other, even after disputes severe enough to sink friendships. As twisted as it sounds, a partner or a child can be replaced, but who can give me a new sister? 

My sister and I don’t say I love you to each other. But we know it. I think we only started hugging each other this year. We are two sides of the same coin. I cry at the drop of a hat, she is one of the most composed people I know. I let my emotions run wild, she doesn’t do anything without rational motives. There is a certain peace that comes with being around her, like a bubble that forms around just the two of us, a feeling unreplicated and grounded in the fact that I do not know a life without her. I am not necessarily always a kind person, deserving of pain and punishment, as most people are. Growing up, I was probably the most evil to my sister, lying and stealing, unintentionally shutting her out because I did not know how to navigate our relationship. My sister, the person who has known me my entire life, knows exactly where to drive the knife and hurt me the most. Yet, she refrains. 

How silly it is. There is no one I quarrel with more than my sister, but I love her beyond words. There is no doubt that I would take a bullet for her. And though we have never said it to each other, I know she would do the same. 

I tell my friends and strangers about my sister like it’s a badge of honor. She is like looking in the mirror and seeing a version of myself I hope to one day become. As girls, how violent being sisters was. I have said things to her that I can never take back. As children, being sisters was breathing proof that you could love someone and still wish them hell. Now, being sisters means I’ll peel her oranges and let the rinds stain my fingernails without complaints. She gives me the best bites of her sandwiches, and we are both willing to go half hungry just to share a meal together. However far we are from each other, the roots of a lifetime of sisterhood will always tie us back to each other. 

Loving other people is complicated, but loving my sister is simple and sweet. I love her like blinking, like a breath of fresh air on the first day of Spring. I hope that we are sisters in every lifetime, and if it so happens we aren’t, I thank a God I don’t even believe in that I somehow exist in the timeline where I am fortunate enough to be her little sister. 

Happy Birthday Hannah - you are many extraordinary things, but my favorite thing you will always be is my older sister.