I find it hard to write about the people I love. How do you convey the magnitude of it? The layers and layers of history, the small everyday acts of kindness, the grand gestures. It’s my sister’s birthday today, and I desperately wanted to pen a post that would get across how much she means to me. How much of an honour it is to be her sister. How in awe of her I am – that my little sister is a grown-up, a mother, and a brilliant one at that.
She knows me – like, really knows me. I see her, and so many memories flash back. Her cheeky childhood grin (exhibit A: that’s her with the dark hair, above), and how she used to wear three different outfits at once, because she loved pattern and colour so much. How we were tidying up one day and broke a knife and got so panicked about getting in trouble that we ran outside and buried it (sorry, mum).
It’s not even a love you can control. It’s just always there, like a pulse, reassuring and constant.
Happy birthday sis! Thank you for always being there, no matter what. Looking forward to watching you blow out some candles later.