My other half.

Yes, yes, I have a sister named Kim. Yes, yes, it was confusing growing up. No, no, we never tried the old "take the other person's place to help them out of a bind only to end up in an even more difficult position through a series of wacky high jinks." We're not identical, dummy.

I was always pissed at her because I had to work my ass off when it came to wheedling our parents into letting us do something untraditional. I argued my way into attending Science Camp in fifth grade, joining the dance arts program in middle school, and moving more than an hour away from home to attend college. I was the rebel. I had an "if you don't let me do this, I'm going to do it anyway" attitude. My sibs just had to utter the words "But you let To Chay do it. Why can't I?" and my parents crumbled like a stale cookie.

My sister was always pissed at me because she constantly took the fall whenever I misbehaved. She was the one who listened to my parents' wails over my disobedience when I went to a sleepover after they explicitly said no (and didn't tell them I was going anyway). She stayed home to babysit when I had a late night "study session" with a "friend." She was the person who chose family over cross country. She was a martyr. I didn't have to do anything to appease my parents, because my sister had enough duty in her for two good daughters. I used to think that this made her weak.

She just had a hip hop performance that I couldn't attend because of LCC tech rehearsal. However, she was gracious enough to send me some fab photos from the event.
As I was flipping through the photos, I realized that my sister is strong. She didn't have a "fuck you" attitude like me. Instead of making waves, she quietly became this other person while attending UCSB, this hip-hop dancing, leggings loving, creative spirit who bided her time and is living life with as much gusto as I am. This isn't weakness. This is strength in its stealthiest form.

Also, she somehow got really cute since moving out to Santa Barbara. wtf?