Sisterhood <3
Growing up, I always wished I had sisters. I have an older brother, and my yearning for a sister as a kid came with no shade to him; he’s great and I love him. I have my brother to thank for my interests in video games and rap music and cars, and all the things that make a brother a brother. But the truth of the matter is…he’s just not one of the girls, ya know?
We didn’t have that dynamic where he taught me how to french braid my own hair, or gave me guidance for ridiculous middle school girl drama, or advice for my first crush. Instead, he taught me about how to build the strongest Pokèmon lineup, introduced me to Biggie who quickly became my favorite rapper, and ingrained in my memory that the Nissan 350Z was one of the coolest cars in the early 2000s. All really great knowledge, but I’d still love to learn how to french braid my hair…
My grandmother on my mom’s side is one of 13, with six sisters, and I’d always hear her bringing them up whenever we’d spend weekends at her house—which was most weekends. They’d chat in Albanian about their days, sharing tips for recipes and advice on household things, and of course spilling tea, because women and gossip go hand-in-hand regardless of culture or language. While some made the move over to the US, most of the sisters had a six-hour difference between them, with half in America and the others in Montenegro, but they still put in the effort each week—if not every day—to make sure they checked in and had their little ki-ki session. Because they’re sisters, so by default they were each other's best friends.
My mom has two sisters (and a brother) too, with one two years older and the other almost two decades younger. As kids my youngest aunt and I, with exactly ten years and 6 days between us, would celebrate our birthdays together and always be mistaken as sisters whenever we’d all be out together. She took over the babysitter role fairly quickly, a kid watching other kids but she was naturally great at it. She’d bake cookies with us, play video games, go swimming in Nana and Tata’s pool, and tuck us into bed at night. As she got older, I’d watch as she’d sneak out to hang out with her friends or meet her high school boyfriend, and my eyes would widen with excitement for her as she’d gush to me about her night all the following Sunday morning. In proximity, she was the closest thing to a sister I could ask for, but in function she was the probably the least qualified candidate to play the role.
Since her older sisters were married and with growing families of their own, my youngest aunt had grown up in my grandparents home, mostly under my uncle's supervision. If you’re curious about the influence my uncle gave on her, see the first two paragraphs, and you can understand why our families lovingly refer to us as “daughters that were meant to be sons.” Even now, we have a close bond where we laugh at our boyish interests and our feminine shortcomings, with me helping her with makeup and style tips 20 years later. Needless to say, she never could teach me how to do french braids, but we’d have a blast making fools of ourselves trying.
Now I’m 25 and my desire for a sister has long subsided, not because my mom was generous enough to give me one, but because I’ve found them on my own. Through the trials and tribulations of sifting through years of “ridiculous school drama” that I didn’t always get guidance on, I’ve managed to find a solid group of girlfriends that have been in my life for over 10 years. We cry together, we laugh together, and sometimes we just sit together in silence, because we need that sisterly presence. We lean on each other as we continue to navigate the highs and lows of life, and most importantly we support each other. Just like my grandma and her sisters, we put in the effort every week—if not every day—to make sure we check in with each other and have our little ki-ki session. Because we’re best friends, so by default we’re sisters.
And no, I still don’t know how to french braid my hair, but I’m learning! Happy Women’s History Month <3
