Shooting with (Patreon)

Aleksander Stojanov and Anastasia

Today my sister is flying in to see me.

I do not remember if I ever told you this, but our relationship has never really been close. And it is not because we do not love each other. It is not about resentment. It is not about competition or trying to prove something to one another - although if I am honest, a tiny part of that probably lived somewhere inside me at times.

It is more about being very different.

I am expressive, emotional, tactile. I hug, I talk, I initiate closeness easily.

My sister is calm, restrained, and not tactile at all. We are opposites in temperament and in the way we show love.

We lived together for many years. But we almost never spent time together outside the house. For a long time I had complaints - she did not understand me, and I did not understand her. We were more like roommates than friends. Not enemies. But not close either.

Even our messages looked the same for years.

“Buy bread on your way home.”

And that was it.

When I moved away and the distance between us became not only emotional but also physical, I started to see that separation more clearly. And I realized that if I wanted something different, I would have to change something myself.

Strangely, distance gave me more acceptance. Not only toward my sister, but also toward my parents. Their personalities. Their patterns. Their choices. Their lives. I stopped trying to reshape them according to my own expectations. As they say, it is sometimes easier to love your family from a distance.

But distance alone does not build closeness. When there is no habit of communicating or sharing your life - especially online, since neither of us enjoys constant messaging - the only option left is offline.

Maybe once a year.

Lock us in the same house.

In a country where there are fewer distractions.

And slowly begin to open our shells.

After all, she is the only person by blood who will remain in my life for so long. And I would like us, one day, as grandmothers, to sit somewhere by the sea, knitting socks for our grandchildren and laughing about memories that only the two of us share.