Our Grand Canyon

a letter to my sister

Dear Titi,

The day of my fifth birthday, I was given the gift of a sister. I held your life in my arms, with your closed eyes and chubby cheeks, and all I could think was: “This is not what I had asked for.”

Charming, I know. I had expected a perfect human playmate, someone I could share all my deepest thoughts and secrets to, someone who would never ever hurt me or tease me about boys. The first few years, all you did was sleep. If not that, you were off doing things that made no sense, and above all else, you never glanced my way.

We shared a room for the first five years of your life and I don’t remember much talking. It’s weird to think about it, but in the first years of our lives, we had been in a silent competition to get our parents’ attention. They always saw you as the nicer one, the one who was real and down-to-earth.

And I was the one with all the talent. But I was also the one our parents felt was cruel and petty. Maybe I am. Or maybe they wanted so badly to be right that that’s what we turned into. Either way, it’s pretty easy to see that we’re radically different people. In another life, one where I don’t have a sister, we never would have met. Or if we did, I would have hated you; just like how we hated each other for five years (or maybe not hate; but resent, dislike, confusion in the midst of trying to define what sisterhood was).

I’m writing this letter to say goodbye, because after so many years of being together, the time for that has ended. I’m sorry that I was never the big sister you needed me to be, even when I wanted to be just as good as the ones in the books that you barely like to read. I’m sorry for taking out my hurt on you when you never deserved it, and I’m sorry for not hugging you close to me all the time. I’m sorry that there are times when the distance between is so great, it’s like someone placed us on opposite sides of the Grand Canyon.

I hate how hard it is to understand you sometimes, and I hate how when we’re mad at each other, we don’t want to understand each other. I hate how Mom always pits us against each other. I hate how we hurt one another in an attempt to distance ourselves away from the real argument.

There was once a time in my life where I wished I never had a sister. That’s a vulgar thought to have, a wish that makes me cry sometimes because even though I never asked for you, I’m unbelievably glad that our parents wanted to have you.

I watched you take your first steps. Fall off chairs, get crushes on boys, play games and cry about losing what we had left of our family. I’m watching you now as you grow up and harbour a deep obligation to fix the world one thought at a time, never scared to voice your opinion (even when it gets you in trouble, even when you lose friends). I sometimes look across the dinner table and see you and I feel so far away. We’re not who we used to be.

I can’t ever scare you about the vampire in the closet; you’re not six years old and superstitious anymore.

You will never see me as the person who will always protect you from the world again (you have your own weapons now I and I’m pretty sure they’re better than mine).

But that distance is only time forcing us to grow into the people we were meant to be. It’s not tragic like it used to be; it’s not full of hate or jealousy. In our Grand Canyon, as we watch each other live our lives from a distance, we have the opportunity of being bonded through a trail we paved together. And when I step foot out of home and say goodbye, I’ll always look back to see how you’re doing.

So when you read this, just know that I’m asking you to stop making jokes about my love life, to make dinner for once in your life, to clean up our dog’s poop instead of pretending like he doesn’t need to dispose of his waste like we do. So in a way, I’m saying goodbye to the chapter in our lives where we would spend every day with each other.

But I know you’ll never leave me.

I won’t leave you, either.

Sincerely,

Your big sis