“

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through this outdated medium, 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

