I am not close to my sister. She was always the baby of the family, and I was always the oldest. Our age difference is 6 years. We never hung out much when we were growing up. And we had different circles of friends. She was always with kids her age and I was with kids my age.

Also. Parents shouldn’t do that, but they have always favored her from the rest of us, simply because she was the youngest. They still baby her sometimes. Well, most of the times. My sister is 19 this year. When I was her age, I was a grownup in my parents’ eyes. Same is not the case with her. She is still a child, and forever will be, as they constantly say.

It stings, because my parents treat her with such love and care that was not there when I was growing up. They don’t talk to me like that. Never have, never will. Eldest of 5 siblings, I have always been the grownup, always expected to be the mature one. I know, I know. Parents don’t have it easy, considering mine were married at a very young age, and have 5 children now. Someone has to sacrifice, to take the fall. It stings that it had to be me.

Of course I love my siblings. There isn’t anything I wouldn’t do for them, obviously. Even though my sister and I barely talk these days, I love her too.

I just don’t show it. I don’t know how to.




They might not…

“They might not need me—yet they might—
I’ll let my Heart be just in sight—
A smile so small as mine might be
Precisely their necessity—”


~Emily Dickinson, “They might not need me – yet they might”

This is one of my favorite poems by Emily Dickinson. She had a way with words. She was an amazing writer. Just amazing. ❤