A Letter to My Sister

 

To my Chinnu,

This is my love for you. The love of a penniless, hopeless elder sister. The love of a sister who is trying to build a foundation for herself, losing track of the very days and months in the process. The love of a sister who thought a hundred times about sending you a birthday gift, but in the end, couldn’t even manage to buy a piece of candy to send you today.

I don’t remember it myself, but Amma had told me. When she went for a scan while pregnant with you, the doctor asked me if I wanted a little brother or a little sister. I said I wanted a sister. Ammama immediately told me, “Say you want a baby brother; you already have a sister at home!” (Which is our cousin) From then on, I started praying for a brother. But in the end, the god answered my first, innocent prayer for a sister. And I swear, from the moment I saw you, I was very protective about you. I can still vaguely recall the scenes from Uvvachan’s wedding video, the visuals of me holding you in my arms, refusing to let anyone else even touch you. It is one of my earliest, clearest memories of us.

An eight-year age gap is no small thing; I’ve written about this once before. When other elder sisters say things like, “My younger sister is like my first daughter,” I don’t really feel any connection to that. In fact, I’ve wondered why I don’t feel that way. Having lived as an only child for eight years, when you finally arrived, all I wanted was a companion. But you were too small to be my friend back then. I couldn’t really play with you or be your peer during your childhood. By the time you were at an age to play, I was already a teenager. You were too young to understand or sense my teenage tantrums. Mentally, it was a time when I felt quite distant from you. Years later, after we had both grown up, a high school friend of mine saw us together and told me how happy it made her. Her sister is only two years apart from her, and they were always best friends. She reminded me how back then, I used to vent to her about how my little sister could never be my friend and how I couldn’t share anything with you because of that gap.

But today, you are my closest friend. I know you know. You are my best listener, the person who knows all my strengths and weaknesses, and who never ever judges me. Sleeping next to you with your legs and arms on me is the most peaceful sleep I have. Even when we are at home and you are just a call away, I feel sad if you don’t check in on me every now and then. If you don’t listen to what I’m saying, I get angry and hurt. I am incredibly possessive about you, though not as possessive as you are of me. In the distant future I imagine, there will be only the two of us. I wonder why that is. A partner or a child never enters my mind. But I don’t think that means I see you as my daughter either.

I have tried so hard to ensure that you got everything that I couldn’t have. From the childhood I lost to Achamma’s strict moral and conventional discipline which never let me even wear what I wanted, to our mental health that became so complicated along the way due to many reasons. I was studying in Pondi when you got your first periods. I still remember you crying over the phone, saying, “Enikk pediyavunnu Chechi….” I remember strictly telling Amma and Achan back then to make sure you don’t feel embarrassed in any way. Because I have had enough of it when during my first periods. And I didn’t want you to go through the same.

I always try to be available for you. You often say that I’ve only recently started to truly understand you, and I feel guilty about that. I’ve never felt I am the ideal sister you might wish for, and I honestly don’t know if I can ever be the one. I’m probably just a typical sister and a selfish individual. But you are my priority. I might not interfere much in your daily life, but I truly hope that in your most difficult moments, I am the first person you run to. I believe I have prepared the ground for you to feel safe enough to do just that.

We have both inherited our fair share of traumas and insecurities. If anything, you might carry an ounce more of them than I do. But... I want you to realize that you have wings too. Your world can be so much more colourful and vibrant. I want you to be nothing less than happy.

I love you, Chinnu. And I am here, always.

Happy Birthday.