Tuesday, September 11, 2012

The other half of me

Noni and me

What’s it like to be a twin? It’s a question I have been asked so many times in my life, yet I have never known how to answer. I’d wonder, what’s it like not to be a twin? I’m still not sure how to answer. It’s so many things.

It’s wearing exactly the same clothes without consulting each other. Being asked to pick a number between one and ten three times, and picking the same number. It’s being understood. It’s understanding someone. It’s having a second wardrobe. It’s holding clothes up against your sister in the shops to see if you really like them. It’s almost the same taste in books, films and music. It’s having the opposite taste in men. It’s getting identical tattoos. It’s never letting the sun go down on an argument. It’s little gifts for no reason. It’s post cards and letters whenever we are apart. It’s sharing quotes and reading to each other from our journals. It’s staying up late at night drinking wine and always having something to say. It’s sharing everything.

It’s expecting too much from others. It’s confusing not being understood by others, when there is someone who understands us so well. It’s the third person in our marriages. It’s being socially awkward without her by my side. It’s sharing all life’s important moments. Growing up together. It’s proudly walking down the aisle before her on her wedding day. It’s swapping clothes, books, shoes. It’s generosity. It’s having a ‘feeling’ when something has gone wrong and calling at that moment. It’s talking about everything, but not always even having to say anything. It’s the first person to hold our first born. It's naming my daughter after her. It's the first person I call when I’m happy or upset. It’s being able to argue and know we still love each other. It’s hanging up on each other repeatedly during a phone fight, then calling and arranging to have coffee and laughing at ourselves. It’s support. It’s driving two hours to Toowoomba to spend two hours with her, then driving two hours home again. It’s real sympathy when you’re sick. It’s a look across a room that you completely understand. It’s the person you can call at any hour about anything. Or three times a day. 

It’s all of the above. Fiona is my sister and my best friend. And that is just the beginning.
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