“What’s it like being a twin?” a stranger asks.
My mind begins to race with possible answers. I want to explain how I am constantly being compared to her. I want to tell them often I am jealous that my sister is smarter and more artistic than me. Is there a way to casually tell them I have been robbed of my individuality?
Or I could tell stories of us singing in the rain, and how she makes me not feel so alone. When I reflect on every good memory I have, she is present. I suppose in some ways, my sister is my best friend.
My words get caught in my throat as I manage to stutter, “It’s ok.”