Blog #270: Dear Mariel (Finally)

Dear Mariel,

I'm sorry this is late, but we both know me, so let's not act surprised by this turn of events.

This is your birthday blog post, a letter to you to commemorate another year on this Earth and another year being my sister (among other things). I know it's a bit after your birthday, but I hope this letter finds you well.

We spoke briefly on your birthday, and that sucked— not the talking, but the time we had to do it. I would have loved to sit down for a three-hour video chat, but as it happens with getting old, neither of us had the time. And, speaking of getting old, we live too far apart for me to make a quick jaunt up to your place, or you to mine. So it goes.

Still, there are good things to dwell on, and so there is where I will choose to dwell.

You're a heck of an older sister.

I tell a lot of horror stories about you, like the time you poked a hole in my ear drum, the time you tried to strangle me, or the many times you physically kicked me out of your bed after inviting me there for a "sleepover," then left me to sleep on the floor without a blanket. I always got my revenge (never forget the multiple scrambled egg incidents of my passive aggressive childhood), but it never left a mark like yours did.

Despite the mild childhood trauma I incurred as a result of being your younger sister, this never put an end to my admiration for you. I always thought I was smarter because all I did was read books all day long, but secretly I wished I could be as gregarious, as easygoing, as cool as you. People said you could be a model and you had cool friends and you weren't afraid to talk to anybody, which was something I found particularly difficult. Also, you were just older, which was an enviable trait in and of itself.

As cheesy as it sounds, I just wanted to gain your approval and make you happy. I think about the "grand gesture" I made for your 16th birthday where I put all the sticky notes on the wall, and when you left them up until the day you moved out of that room, I walked past them every single day feeling validated that I'd done something you appreciated. I was embarrassed for wanting your approval, but I still needed it, regardless.

*Brief intermission to let you know that I'm crying now, lol.*

As the years went on, you transformed from my pretty, bubbly, popular older sister into my badass, independent, well-rounded partner in crime. I think this was due to transformations on both our parts, but, for lack of a better way to say it, I started to take you more seriously.

Now, this isn't to say that I ever doubted you, but it just seemed like everyone's focus was on your style/beauty/popularity. People used to literally come up to me and try to have an entire conversation solely about how pretty you are, and I'd just smile and nod until I could walk away. When you began being more independent and assertive, you started changing your narrative to focus on the more substantive elements of you as a person. Similarly, when I began to grow and change from a "popularity mindset," this narrative, surrounding both of us, became more clear to me.

And, of course, I still enjoyed my time in high school with you. It was fun and cool to be the sister of the coolest, most popular girl in school. We spent basically all of our time together in dance/band/golf/theatre, and this was a time where our relationship grew beyond a sisterhood into a true friendship. I wouldn't trade that time for the world.

When you left for college, I cried a lot on the way home. Mom and Dad weren't sure I was going to be okay, and I honestly wasn't really sure either. Being the first sibling to leave home, you were like this weird ghost that we didn't know what to do with, and who we didn't know how to live without. The house got noticeably quieter after you left, which is still true to this day. For a long time, nothing ever really felt complete.

But, as time goes on, we adapt and grow accustomed to a new lifestyle, and so I gradually got used to not seeing you every single day. By the time I left for Iowa, it seemed normal to see you once a month, at best. You had fully transitioned to the "adult" sibling who only came around every once and a while.

Despite this, you continued to be one of my biggest cheerleaders, and I think our relationship has only grown stronger in our college years. I am most proud of the growth you underwent in the four years it took you to get your degree, and although I know a lot of it was painful, you took it like a champ and became better because of it. It's because of these last few years that I call you a strong, independent, resilient woman.

You are a queen, a feminist witch, and the person who is always the most excited to see me. Sometimes I assure myself that even if all my friends actually hated me, I'd at least still have you. I trust that you will be there for me, as you have proven to be, and I trust that you'll always provide a good laugh, whether or not you're trying to.

I know things are tough, but you are brilliant and creative and lovable. In the least formidable and pressuring way possible, I know that you will live an exciting and successful life, and I can't wait to watch you do it. Remember that things will figure themselves out, and if the right opportunity doesn't come along, you will create it. I have no doubt about this.

You are my best friend, my chiquitita, my sister. You have quite literally melted my ear with a straightener, and our relationship was able to come back from that, so you know my love is true. Here's to the next year of your life, which I know will be filled with joy, growth, adventure, love, and hopefully a few nights of us drinking wine, preferably in a foreign city as we sit on our patio.

Love ya, bitch.

(Alternate closing line: tschüssie tschüssie tschüssie, tschüssie tschüssie tschüss.)

Your favorite younger sister.

Oh, and by the way, I'm still down to move in together at one point if we can just settle on a location. Ehan is obviously not allowed to come, but I think it will be great.