In the middle of a long, useless but very mandatory phone call, my sister says: “Oh, by the way, I spent a good chunk of my afternoon reading things you wrote”.

After she explained where she had read these things, she gave me a compliment. A very rare occurrence, I may add. She actually said my writing was nice and that it resonated a lot with her.

It then hit me, that my sister is going through a very tough patch. I seldom write when I am happy. In fact, I get a writer’s block when I am happy. I just want to experience everything and rarely ever want to stop to write about it.

My sister is sad, or confused, or lost, or a seasoning mix of all these feelings that she should not be having. Because, if you’re lucky enough to have a younger sibling, especially a sister, you would want them to be happy at all times, heck you would want them to laugh in their sleep just to make sure nightmares do not draw near.

But here is the hardest truth I’m learning: they grow up. They have their own share of battles to fight, heartbreaks to endure, disappointments that no shield can block. And maybe the role of an elder sibling isn’t to prevent those storms, but to sit with them in the rain until the clouds pass.

Watching my sister walk through immense challenges is a kind of helplessness I never knew before. I would trade places with her in an instant if I could. But I can’t. What I can do is be here. To remind her she’s not alone. To write words that she might binge-read on a sad day.
I wish I could promise that it will all get easier. I can’t. But I can promise that I’ll be here. Writing. Sitting with you in the dark until you find your light again.

And she will find it again