It seems that you have a habit of leaving your social networks logged in, open for anyone to see and manipulate, just by opening your web browser. Oh, the things I could post. More awful jokes about Star Trek, claiming that you have an obsession with pickled onions, or even the video of you and Tesla raping Yung Joc in our living room several years ago (to be honest, I was extremely tempted to post it). That was five years ago. You were sixteen years old, and I was only eight. When I was that young, I really didn’t understand much, and I still don’t. I know that when I was younger I wasn’t always the best little sister to have around- always annoying you and your friends and throwing temper tantrums-but you always seemed to put up with me. You never treated me wrong or acted mean. Have you ever noticed the number of definitions for “mean”? I believe that I’ve found about ten. Out of the twenty-one years of your life, and the nearly fourteen of mine, I don’t think that I have once properly explained what you mean to me.: Mean:to have in mind as one’s purpose or intention; intend: I meant to compliment you on your work. Synonyms: contemplate.
At eight years old, all I thought that was you were just someone who was older than me and tried to boss me around. Little did I know, that God had given me a gift of an amazing sister. Someone that I could look up to and count on for anything. You’ve always been here with me, thank you for that. Even if I acted like I didn’t, you’ve always been someone I’ve looked up to. I’m not saying that you’ve always made the best decisions, but you’ve worked hard at trying to fix some of them. Now you’ve gone and moved out of the house. To be honest, I didn’t think it would happen for a while. The idea seemed something surreal to me. Although, before you had moved out, you weren’t always here, but I could still always expect you home sometime. You’d always been right there with me. Even when you told me, I couldn’t quite believe it. Even when helping move your things out of your old bedroom, which I have now claimed as my own, I still didn’t really believe that’d you’d left. Even this past weekend when I had spent the night in your new apartment for the first time, it still didn’t really sink in. But as I’m writing you this, the house seems emptier than usual. I believe I can finally say that I understand that you’ve left. But don’t let this sound like some sort of eulogy. I’m very happy that you’re leaving to become your own person. You’re an adult now, and you do adult things. You work your job, come home to your apartment, sit on your couch, and watch your tv. You go to sleep in your bed, and wake the next morning, preparing yourself for the day to come. Casually roaming the house until you find your way to the kitchen to make yourself a cup of coffee in your coffee cup. If you hadn’t noticed, there was a keyword there: you. You’re becoming your own person, and this is just the start. From this point on, you can do whatever you want. You can do great things, Cassie, I know you can. You’re more capable than you think. So make sure to do something you love, and don’t beat yourself up too bad over mistakes along the way- you’re human, not perfect. You’re going to mess up. It’s a part of life. So make mistakes, try new things, laugh, eat new food, keep your friends close, make new friends, call old ones. Do your best at everything you do. Do what you love. The cliche-ness of this is about at max-capacity, but I can assure you that I’ve meant every word. Remember that I love you, and you can always come to me about anything, just like you did for me. Thank you for everything.
-Your sister, Kailyn