Twisted Sisters
There are a multitude of ways that we become sisters. The most natural ones — by birth — have been fundamental to my growth. Being by far the youngest of four girls, our roles and relationships shift based on circumstances. The only constant is our unconditional love. Being the youngest also meant that I’ve been socialized around adults; resulting in a wise, old soul with an immensely youthful energy — or so I’ve been told. I dance with these dynamics with a sense of playfulness.
But these dynamics have also proven to get twisted. For one, my eldest sister, Reem is sometimes mistaken for my mother; something she doesn’t take lightly. Most recently, after placing her order at my neighborhood coffee spot, the barista asked me with a sense of excitement “Is this your mom?” My eyes widened, eyebrows raised, slight smirk and shook my head. Reem cancelled her order and stormed out. It’s an honest mistake; I probably look (and act) younger than my age, and she might just be a cool young mom. Our relationship has traversed the realms of wanting to choke each other to being misunderstood, and all that’s in between. I turn to her for efficient IKEA runs, travel advice, and a bottomless well of laughter. My Dad always said she carries the weight of the first born like no son ever could.
Then there’s my sister Rasha who could pass as my twin, (read: I shop in her closet). But we have a sort of mother-daughter relationship — think Gilmore Girls. Growing up, she influenced my taste in music and film; Almost Famous, Good Will Hunting, Simon & Garfunkel, Bob Dylan. In 6th grade, she attended my parent-teacher-meetings. And whenever she’s visiting, she treats me to the finest dining. A few weeks ago, I overheard her from across the dinner table respond to my friend “no, I don’t necessarily want kids, I have Haya.”
The complexities between sisters exists because we can be our truest selves; unapologetically uncensored, held in the safety of love. We’re in constant negotiation of who we are to each other; a growth relationship by nature.
Then there’s a chosen set of sisters that come to be with time. A sistership ceremony sets the wheels in motion, after which, the relationship is forever transformed. It becomes so tightly bound that no time or distance could ever loosen the tie.
It’s us breaking out in hysterical laughter and tears — and with one look, we are overcome with a deep sense of knowing that this was our initiation. It’s us binge watching Insecure, also in hysterical laughter — albeit a wholly different kind. It’s one look during a 3 hour bus ride in Peru. It’s me catching you eating a jar of Nutella, in the dark, with your coat still on. It’s us bonding over address shame in college. It’s you in my bed reading The Arabs. It’s us bound in a hug, drowning in our tears, overwhelmed by emotions. It’s you moving into my one-bedroom apartment as a long-term plan. It’s us on the phone, set up by our moms. It’s us raving on the dance floor, a permanent smile plastered across our faces.
In this lifetime, I’ve lost a sister and a best friend — I hold them in my heart, but in this expansive space, there’s room for so many more.
