Since I could form sentences, I asked my parents to buy me a sister. At the grocery store, of course, where all four-year-olds think babies come from. I didn’t have any reason for asking. I was my parents' greatest love, uncontested for having the most presents under the Christmas tree. It seemed I’d stay that way when I learned at six that my mother couldn’t have any more children. I gave up the fantasy of having a little sister not too long after. 

 My classmates significantly rejected me in grade school. Amongst my peers, to be bold was to be eccentric, and to question the normative was to be outspoken. I was bullied from kindergarten through fourth grade, and for those five years, I so desperately wanted to be anyone but myself. I tried to be more funny, charming, and pretty. I yearned to have a common interest with the girls around me. I wanted to be like them. More than anything, I wanted to be liked by them. So I silenced myself and lost myself to the possibility of artificial friendships that would never develop. 

 I was ten when, against all odds, my brother, Thomas, was born. On June 7th, 2016, I didn’t just gain a sibling, I gained my best friend. Like all babies, my brother relied on his family for survival. He needed me, but I soon realized I needed him more.

 Seven years later, Thomas is still my very best friend. I moved to a new town the summer before fifth grade and entered a new school district. In this district, friends have come and gone, but my relationship with my brother has always remained strong. If anything, it has only grown stronger. The only thing I ever need to cheer me up is one of Thomas’ hugs. When he comes to my volleyball games, nothing pushes me to play better than him cheering me on in the stand. His laughter is so sweet, I can’t help but laugh at it. 

 Without my brother's friendship, I’d be a shell of who I am today. He has pushed me to love who I am–even the parts some might consider anomalous–and never silence myself at the expense of what others think. Thoughts, emotions, and words are so powerful– how could I silence them? What authority does anyone have to silence that which runs the world?

 Thomas has taught me patience, kindness, and courage. But most importantly, he’s taught me love. Precious, pure, unequivocal love that I never knew until him. The kind of love that has made me eternally grateful my parents never bought me a grocery store sister.