“
Love you and miss you
loads! Can’t wait to
hear more adventures
next week! XOXO...”
When was the last time you
sent someone a letter? I don’t
mean birthday cards or thank
you notes. When was the last
time you sent a loved one a
handwritten letter and kept a
correspondence going through
snail mail?
I would imagine only a few
people
still
communicate
through this outdated medium,
but
letter-writing
remains
a timeless mechanism that
can bridge an emotional and
physical gap between two
people.
Letter-writing has played
a
particularly
important
role in the resurgence of my
relationship with my older
sister, Adina. Other than the
occasional argument that most
siblings have at one point or
another, we didn’t have a lot of
issues growing up. Our strong
bond as brother and sister was
rooted in listening to mashups
of
pop
songs,
watching
“America’s Next Top Model”
and making each other laugh,
often to annoy and vex our
parents.
After she left for college,
however, our conversations
became sporadic, and I began
to see the limitations of our
communication
and
our
closeness. I would only get to
see her during school breaks
or religious holidays. It was in
her absence that I realized how
little I knew about what was
going on in her life.
Being the younger sibling, I
didn’t think to ask about whom
she was dating or her thoughts
on current events. Selfishly, I
figured that it wasn’t my place
to inquire about such ideas. As a
result of this apprehension, we
began to drift apart.
What I value most in my
relationship with my sister —
other than the sweet childhood
memories we share and our
similar tastes in music and
TV — is the necessity for
transparent
communication.
More specifically, the necessity
for our exchanges to be more
than just the generic “Hey,
how are you?” The necessity of
openly discussing heavy, hot-
button issues and our current
pop culture obsessions. I was
looking to evolve our older-
younger sibling dynamic into
something akin to a mature
close
friend-colleague-type
relationship.
During my first two years
of college, my sister and I hit
a rough patch. We weren’t
talking or texting each other
much. Often, I wouldn’t get
a response to a text I sent her
until two days
after. When we
did talk, it was
always
at
an
inconvenient
time
and
typically
the
same one-sided
conversation: I’d
tell her at length
about my life at
the moment and
she’d only tell
me vague details
about hers. Our
lives
couldn’t
have been more
different — me,
being a college
student
and
her, working as a high school
special education teacher in
Seattle. Given the weight of
daily stresses straining our
routines,
our
conversations
became inert.
What bothered me wasn’t
just that our communication
lacked depth and dynamism,
but that somehow our closeness
as
siblings
was
gradually
dissolving because of lack of
communication. We both knew
it, yet neither of us wanted to
admit it or confront it because
it would open up all kinds of
uncomfortable wounds that
had been deeply suppressed
from years of reticence.
On a family vacation in Palm
Springs last winter, the rut
deepened into an all-time low.
Our conversations quickly went
from tepid to passive aggressive
to hostile. Tension stirred
between us during long bouts of
simmering angry silence on the
drive there and back. Staying in
the same hotel room for a few
nights didn’t help either. We
were acting as if we weren’t
even siblings anymore, just two
disgruntled young adults who
happened to be related to each
other.
After
we
apologized
and reconciled, things got
somewhat better. We both
recognized each other’s needs:
She wanted me to ask more
mindful questions and I wanted
her to give me more thorough
answers.
Still,
something
was missing, especially when
our discourse returned to its
normal, lackluster state.
During this past spring
semester, I attended the New
England Literature Program,
a six-week academic retreat in
the woods of New Hampshire,
where
technology
was
nonexistent and the only means
of
outside
communication
was via letter-writing. Along
with the other elements of the
program, I found the tech-
free environment particularly
exciting and liberating. Not
only would I get the chance
to experience life without my
phone or computer, but also I
would learn to connect with
my friends and family outside
NELP
through
physical,
handwritten letters — the “old-
fashioned” way.
When I wrote my first letter
to Adina, in addition to the
rest of my family, I instantly
noticed a change in the way
I communicated. My inner
thoughts flowed more fluidly
from my fingertips. I paid closer
attention to the kinds of words I
used to describe my experience
away from home, integrating
daily anecdotes with pensive,
personal reflection. I felt like a
better version of myself writing
these letters. And
when I received my
first reply from Adina
in the mail, I grew
giddy.
She
wrote
a long, thoughtful
response back, asking
me questions about
the experiences that
I shared with her and
divulging her own
vivid stories about
her early summer
days.
I loved the letters
she sent me, because
I,
too,
believed
Adina was the best
version
of
herself
in her letters. I felt
her dynamic spirit in the way
she emphasized her emotions
through capitalized words and
multiple exclamation points.
I sensed her compassionate
attention to detail in the way
she asked me about the classes
I was taking on New England
authors, weekly camping trips
and other various activities.
But perhaps most importantly,
I learned so much more about
her from how thorough she was
in recounting her day-to-day
happenings. Her letters made
me feel a lot less lonely and
alienated in our siblingship, and
I’d like to believe she harbors a
similar feeling.
In one of Adina’s last letters
to me at NELP, she proposed
that we keep writing letters to
each other after the program
was over. At first, I was a
little unsure — why keep
corresponding through letters
when we could just text, call
or
FaceTime?
It
sounded
redundant, but I figured I’d give
it try, since I enjoyed writing to
her anyway and wanted to see
if it would further develop our
revitalized closeness.
Post-NELP, we continued
writing
letters,
giving
descriptive
accounts
about
what we were both up to since
our last correspondence. Soon,
we texted more frequently and
direct-messaged funny memes
to each other. I stopped getting
mad at her when she wouldn’t
respond to my texts, because
there was more than just one
line of communication. Now, our
day to day felt riper and livelier.
Through Twitter and texting,
we talked about our pop culture
icons (some of our favorites are
Issa Rae, RuPaul and Fiona
the Hippo), exchanged ideas
for tweets and discussed our
thoughts on relationships and
current events.
As slow and time-consuming
as writing letters may be,
they have the power to open
up a whole new channel in
an
emotionally
dormant
relationship. Even if technology
offers
a
faster
route
for
communication,
there
is
something so authentic, so
cathartic and so gratifying about
handwriting a letter to someone,
awaiting their response and
then reading their reply over
and over again. Sure, the process
requires some extra patience,
effort
and
commitment.
Conflicting schedules might
lengthen the waiting period.
But letter writing shouldn’t feel
like a chore. Rather, think of it
as a regular conversation, one in
which you and another person
can make up for lost time.
“I can hear your voice
through your words. I’ll write
back as soon as I can.”
3B
Wednesday, September 13, 2017 // The Statement
Personal Statement: Letters to My Sister
BY SAM ROSENBERG, DAILY ARTS WRITER
ILLUSTRATION BY ERIN TOLAR