I drafted a post about my birthday a few days ago — I documented the struggles, triumphs and lessons I have learned during my 23rd year on this crazy earth. It was a sentimental post per usual, but it didn’t hit home the way that I wanted it to.
In case you lovely guys and gals reading this out there were unaware, I’m a twin. And my sister Emily is my absolute best friend in the entire world. And no, we are not identical; we’re actually polar opposites. So while I’ve mentioned her in posts before, this birthday rant is a straight shot down memory lane. Enjoy my peanut-shaped head and awkward bangs…
Emily and I were born on our exact due date, and while this may be a little too much information, she kicked me out of the womb. I’m serious. I was born first and then Emily came out feet first right after me. I blame her for my lack of patience. I wasn’t ready for the world but there she was, legitimately kicking me in the ass. Not much has changed in that respect; she’s still pushing my buttons and testing my patience.
Contrary to popular belief, I was extremely shy when I was little. I hid behind her as she introduced me to other kids and I was as quiet as a mouse. She has acted as my safety net since day one. I don’t know how I would have survived those awkward years without her. She’s the sole reason why I try to be extroverted and personable. I learned everything I know from watching Emily and admiring her confidence.
You think I’m wild? You should hang out with Em for a day. She’s reckless, care-free and off the cuff like no other. Emily has six tattoos (that I know of), one of them is a four leaf clover (we’re Irish, check out the freckles) on her wrist that says “twins.” It also has our date of birth underneath the clover. I asked Em why she included that in the tattoo and her response was, “just in case if you die first, I can put your death date underneath.” Yeah. She’s a little morbid. Yet somehow she manages to be the most selfless person on the planet, putting herself last every single time. I couldn’t be as humble and caring as her if I tried. Her compassion is unmatched.
Twin telepathy is real. Although Emily and I have a different take of what it means. Em is convinced that “twin telepathy” means that if she opens her mouth to burp and I let one out a half of a second before her, we’re “connected” like no other. She sucks. Our connection was never more obvious than back in the summer of 2006.
I was away in Italy and Emily was home in Rochester. Her and my older sister got into a car accident. Emily reached for her seat belt that she wasn’t wearing (shame on her) as my sister’s car and another were about to collide. Having her arm crossed over her body saved her life by a split second as her head hit the windshield. At the exact time that happened, I was making the sign of the cross as an ambulance drove by while I toured a city in Italy. I had “Jesus Take The Wheel” by Carrie Underwood playing on repeat for no other reason other than I felt like I had to listen to it all day. My intuitions and gut feelings about what’s going on with Emily are always dead on. We didn’t piece the story together until I talked to my family later that night. The timing and connection of it all is eerie, but I wouldn’t trade it for the world.
She is strong when I am weak (both physically and emotionally.) She’s the rational one when I call her sobbing over a heartache or stressed about my career. She humbles me and keeps me in check with reality. She is just everything. Everything I could ever want in a sister, a friend, a buddy to hang out with, you name it she is it.
Emily is legitimately the one person who not only knows me better than I know myself, but also the one who tolerates my mood swings and emotional episodes. The stories we have acquired (both heartwarming and hilarious,) the laughs we have shared and the relationship we have effortlessly built since before we even knew what the world looked like is something I wish I could more adequately convey in a little blog post. I guess it’s telling of how special my relationship with her is, though. We can’t describe it. We feel it. We know it. We believe in it. And life would not be nearly as meaningful without it.
I always like other people’s birthdays more than my own. Perhaps it’s because I’ve had to share my birthday my whole life and don’t know any different. It doesn’t ever upset me, though. Because there should be at least one day a year where my twin sister is celebrated. Today is that day.
So happy birthday, Em. I love you more than you’ll ever know. Your presence and role in my life has changed me in ways I know you’ll never understand. I’m choked up just writing this. You are my better (crazier) half and the one person on the planet who I just could not picture being without. No words could ever encompass my admiration and appreciation for you. Here’s to many more years of tossing green olives in each other’s mouths until the jar is empty, painting the town red, arguing over absolutely nothing and laughing until we cry tears of joy.
Love you, pretty twin. Sana saiiii!
** Side note: this is also my 100th post! So if your eyes are following these (often rambling) string of words I construct time and time again, thank you! I appreciate the readership more than any of you could know.