Sometimes I feel like all we have in common is the stomach in which we were formed. I look at you with curiosity because you and I are two completely different people who happen to live together and share the same mother and father. Somehow that means we’ll be connected forever.

Sometimes I get so mad at you that I want to throw a chair or a plate or scream really, really loudly. You and I both know I end up resorting to the latter on a regular basis.

Sometimes I do something to anger you intentionally. I enjoy watching you fire up, smiling when you’re mad just to push you over the edge. I enjoy watching our parents target you as the source of our most recent argument’s launch. You’re nodding in agreement to this, I know it. You do the same, oh Master of Innocence and Perfection.

At the same time, when someone wrongs you (I’m looking at your psycho ex) I want to unleash infinitely more pain and anger on them. I don’t care about their opinion, I just want them out of the picture and fast.

I could be in the middle of an argument with you, and if a friend decides to support me, or repeat something I’ve said to you I suddenly turn and unleash my wrath on them. “How DARE you disrespect my sister! I can’t believe you said that!” and yet somehow it’s okay for me to say the same things.

It is times like these when I realise how much I love you and how much you mean to me. You and I grew up together- you understand how we were parented, you understand the rituals at home that will sift through our adult lives later on. You understand why Mum and Dad are frustrating sometimes. You remember every time I was really sick or really mad.

You know that my favourite colour is blue and the real reason I came back from my holiday, you’ve been there at the airport when I’ve flown home and you recommend books you know I’ll like (and you’re never wrong). You know what I love eating for dinner and what dessert makes me really happy. You know what plants I planted in the garden and the story behind every hole/scratch/pen mark on the wall. You give me opinions on every outfit change and I trust you as if it’s Coco Chanel standing in front of me.

You’ve been present for every birthday and if not you’ve sent me a message. You don’t need Facebook to remember it. You’re a guaranteed attender at Christmas to be by my side when we roll our eyes at particular family member’s speeches. You lend me your clothes (on a good day) and sometimes you come into my room and sit on the end of my bed and not say anything at all and it’s okay. We can hang out in silence and I don’t have to think twice about you being there and whether you’re bored or hungry, like I have to with friends. We have inside jokes that date back DECADES and that is one of my favourite things.

I can be honest. I tell you when I’m frustrated and I don’t have to tiptoe with polite ‘Sorry, I can’t hang out tonight I’m not feeling very well’ it’s ‘I’m just frustrated and want to be left alone okay so can you piss off!’ You understand, you know me and what I’m like.

You’ll always be there, and you’ll always be my sibling. I can’t remove you from my friends list like I can do to Jess or Kayla or Jacob or Matt. Sometimes this feels like a curse, but it’s a blessing. It’s an unbreakable blessing.

You might make me an aunty one day and you’ll be an aunty to my children. We can hang out in our adult houses and cook dinners that Mum used to make and reminisce on the way that she’d always forget to put salt in the boiling water before cooking pasta. Our kids will be running in between our legs and our husbands will be on the veranda drinking coffee together.

You will always be around. While we go through the crazy teen years and the ever-busy early 20s, while I yell and treat you poorly, while you retaliate and call me names that hurt, remember our bond and the weight that years of memory can have on a relationship. We are bound, I love you and I’ll never let go.