I remember the days where I used to tell you I hate you more than I love you. It was never that I actually hated you – it was always out of jealousy.
I used to spend hours searching your room trying to find your diary, hoping to get a glimpse at the life you had. Compared to mine, yours always looked better.
You were allowed to stay out until 10 p.m., which to a 9-year-old was pretty awesome at the time. You played spin-the-bottle with boys while I was still calling them “icky.”
You were always smarter than me, and you had 4 more years of experience than I did. Your writing was beautiful, you knew how to put on makeup, you learned how to drive first, you had a boyfriend first – you did everything first.
And here I am at age 19 and I still envy you. The only difference is that since I’ve matured, I won’t pinch you or call you names because of it – I’ll just work harder to become half the person I know you are.
Most of the time I watched you grow up and succeed. But sometimes I watched you fail. I watched your heart break, I watched the ever-present smile fade from your face, I watched lock yourself in your room to cry because you didn’t want anyone to see.
But I always watched watched you pick yourself back up. I always watched you fight for what you want and never back down.
Because of you, I’ve learned how to pick myself up and start over. I’ve learned never to settle for anything less than my dreams. I’ve learned how to be a big sister myself. I’ve learned how to become a writer. I’ve learned everything I know now because of you.
So I hope you keep the ideals you helped me grow up with. I hope that smile never leaves your face. I hope you find the success you’ve always dreamt of since you started writing in journals, and the type of man you wrote about in them.
But mostly, I hope I grow up to be just like you.