We all grow up at some point or another. We move away, maybe get married, have kids perhaps, or simply grow older, find new destinations to explore. We move to a new city and start afresh. We make a home for ourselves.
My sister is six years younger than me. She is my only sibling. Growing up I still recall that day she was born. I went to visit her and my mum in the hospital with my grandmother. I believe I was very excited and perplexed that there was a baby awaiting to see us and that my mum suddenly had brought into the world this small person who was to be my sister. My playmate, my friend, my whole world.
When we came home, the days that followed were naturally hectic. I didn’t notice much of it, I was after all only six but I do remember that everyone cooed around her, wanted to carry her, look at her and that she was extremely cute. I used to ponder at her cot and look at her, tried to pick her up in secret but I couldn’t really manage it because she would start screaming on top of her lungs as soon as I came near her let alone tried to lift her up. At that point I remember quite clearly (amazing how some memories stick so vividly in our heads and others simply fade away) thinking my sister is annoying little baby who just screams. And what is so special about her that suddenly everyone wants to see her. Yes, I was jealous. Like any other kid out there who just got a new brother or sister and was no longer number one. But at the same time, I felt a strange connection to that screaming baby and I knew she would accompany me through life, through good and bad times, and that although we may not be the same, or always get along, or even share same opinions on everything, there is a special kind of love and affection one feels for their little sister. A responsibility too. And deep affection.
Throughout the years that followed, she didn’t scream anymore when I came near her. Quite the opposite, she followed me like a plague. Always wanting to do what I was doing, always wanting to be with me. Even when I was hardly impressed about that fact.
We started to get along in my teenage years, oddly enough she was 10 and I was 16. But we got along better and better. In our twenties even more so. She suddenly advised me on things as much as I did her. And she followed me through my life adventures and my mistakes just as I did hers. I cannot imagine wanting to share any of that with anyone else.
Few years later we lost touch, she stayed in Australia and I moved to Europe. We spoke seldom. I grew sad just thinking about it. And now she has also moved to Europe, a country close to where I am and we see each other once or twice a year. We speak more often, but not often enough. It is strange how life brings us apart as we get older. Distance doesn’t help at all, it makes a void where once connection stood. But sister love is deeper than that. Even when we don’t see eye to eye all the time. Even when the distance has cooled us down too much, made us stiff and frosty. It beats with each heartbeat, this sister love, and it reminds me, at least, that you only have this one special friend forever and ever.