a work in progress

The painful thing about sisters

I wonder if you ever stop competing. 

Ever stop measuring up one to the other. 

And I wonder, is it worse when you are closer in age?

It started with the voices around us. 

Talking about how she was more social and I was shy. 

How she’s strong and I’m friendly. 

Talking about how one of us is the skinnier one. 

One of us is the steadier one. 

And we heard it. We heard all of it. 
The other day, my sister (D) went and visited aunties with Aru and her husband. 

She wanted to, enjoyed it, loved it. 

Me? Sometimes I like my time alone, I like time to have a latte, I like the silence, I like familiar conversations, I like home. 

I like meeting aunties once, to reconnect, but then I like to just unwind.  
And I wished I could be more like her. 

More giving, more able. 

As I told her, “I wish I could be more like you,” there was a film of tears in my eyes that I never let fall. 
When do we accept the differences and simply say. 

Whom we are is enough. 

It is perfect and it is enough. 
This one is especially for my sisters, because I know, each one of us is simply enough. 

Giving enough. Loving enough. Concerned enough. True enough. 

All things enough.

We just forget to remind ourselves of that.


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