A sister is a gift to the heart, a friend to the spirit, a golden thread to the meaning of life. –Isadora James

This past weekend was my younger sister, Rebecca’s, birthday. She’s 7 1/2 years younger than me so we haven’t lived under the same roof since she was 11 and I went off to college. When she came into the world, I was in second grade and even took her to Show and Tell at school because I wanted to show off my real-life doll.

I tortured her the way a lot of big sisters do, dressing her up in costumes and testing out makeup on her. Forcing her to run random errands for me. Getting mad when she messed up the organization of my toys. We fought over real estate in the back seat of the car on family road trips. She followed me around, and I tried to ditch her at every corner.

Then we grew up. I remember the first time I realized she was a full-fledged adult – it was when we went to Ireland for our cousin’s wedding. Our parents couldn’t make the trip so it was just the Kumar sisters traveling to the land of Guinness and Oscar Wilde. We drove along the west coast, danced with little old Irish men, and drank beers together. We visited the Cliffs of Moher and got a little too close to the edge. I drove on the left side of the road for the first time and she patiently endured me hitting branches on her passenger side along the narrow country roads. We had a great time and forged a new friendship along the way.

Now she’s the person who makes me feel not alone in the world. The one who knows why I am the way I am almost more than anyone. The person I know I can count on to help should a crisis arise. We laugh together, conspire together, and enjoy each other’s people because we ourselves have become friends. She’s smart, sassy, and successful, and I am so lucky to have her in my life.

So Happy Belated Birthday, Becca. I love you to the moon!

[Top photo: 1982, unibrow in full effect; Bottom photo: Instagram offices at Facebook’s HQ]