To All the Single Children Out There

To the Sibling I Never Had

Hey Dear Sis,

You know, if you were here, mom would've probably told us not to fight over the TV remote. And we would've ignored her anyway - fighting like crazy, then sharing popcorn five minutes later.

I never had that fight.
Because you were never here.
But I imagined it - more times than I can count.

If you were here, I would've called you when I make my food in the kitchen just to chit chat. To fill the silence with your voice while the microwave hums.

If you were here, I would've leaned on your shoulder to whisper all the things I was never brave enough to say out loud - up on our rooftop, under a sky that always felt too quiet.

We would've fought like animals - over clothes, over food, over the last bite.
But maybe… you’d have also held me the night I first failed.
Told me it was okay. That I wasn’t alone.

If you were here, maybe I wouldn't have learned to shut down so early.
Maybe I would’ve known what it feels like to be understood before having to explain myself.

And as a brother, I would’ve moved mountains if something had ever happened to you.
You may not exist physically in this world - but I love you fiercely, as if you’ve always been part of it. To be honest, you are.

I hope you're out there somewhere - in some parallel universe,
where we're laughing together,
fighting again by sunset,
and sleeping in the same room, just like siblings do.

Until next life,
- From the brother who would bend the world for you

---

Hey Dear Brother,

You’ll be my best man at my wedding.
There’s a seat saved for you - right in the front row.
And I still hope you show up that day.

If you were here, maybe I wouldn't have had to carry the weight of being the responsible one… every single time.
Maybe someone else would've looked out for me when the world didn't.
You'd have handled the guys who ragged me in college - not with words, but with the kind of quiet strength only a big brother has.

If you were here, I would've called you when my bike breaks down all of a sudden near our home.
Not because you'd fix it, but because the walk back wouldn't feel so lonely.

If you were here, all my items would have been given to you when I outgrew them.
But now they're lying around empty. Soulless.

We might’ve hated each other in moments.
We might’ve fought over everything.
But I know… deep down… we would’ve loved each other in a way no one else ever could.

I don’t know where you are.
But I still imagine you in every story where I needed backup.
And I still write you into every chapter I didn't want to face alone.

From,
- The One

---

The First Time I Felt It

I still remember a day back in school - there was an event where everyone brought their siblings.
I was the only one who didn’t.

I stood there in the middle of the carpet, not quite knowing what to do with my hands or where to place my gaze.
Laughter echoed around me - kids pulling their brothers into games, sisters fixing each other’s hair.

And there I was, slowly drifting between families that weren’t mine.
I didn’t cry. I didn’t speak.
I just walked away, quietly, like I was never meant to be part of it in the first place.

I was old enough to understand what I was missing.
And young enough to feel that no one else saw it.

---

A House Full of Love Still Has Silence

I’ve never blamed my parents.
They made a choice - to pour everything they had into raising me with love, comfort, and every possible opportunity.
And they did it beautifully.

But even in a house full of love, there’s a silence you can’t unhear.

It’s not loud. It doesn’t scream.
It just sits there - like an elephant on your chest, quiet and immovable.

Some days, you’re grateful for how much you were given.
And on others… you ache for the one thing they couldn’t give you.

A sibling. A shadow to walk beside.

---

The Loneliest Kind of Nostalgia

When I look at old family photos, I sometimes freeze -
because there’s no one else who remembers those moments with me.

No one to say, “Remember how Mom made us wear matching sweaters that winter?”

It’s like living a whole life in single-player mode…
with no one else to hold the other half of the memory.

---

When Life Asks You for a Name

A few years ago, I was at the hospital.
The doctor looked up and asked, “Next of kin?”

I stumbled.

Of course, I had my mom and dad.
But in that moment, something inside me cracked - not loudly, but quietly… deeply.

I realized that if anything ever happened to them, there was no one left to stand beside me by default.
No one whose name came naturally after mine.

I couldn’t explain the ache then. I still can’t.
Some feelings refuse to become words.

Another time, when I first got an iPhone, it asked:
Who should be notified if something happens to you?

And again, I froze.

After a long pause, I entered the name of a cousin - K.
Not because I was the one to her.
But because I had to write someone.

And yet, the space where a name should’ve fit naturally… still feels empty.

---

Even Fighting Means You Had Someone

I even find myself envying the ones who fight with their siblings.

Not because they have someone I don’t - I’ve made peace with that part.
But because fighting means presence.
It means there’s someone to slam a door on… and have it opened five minutes later.

Someone to shout at - knowing they'll still be there the next morning, arms crossed, but there.

I don’t long for the arguments.
I long for the comfort of knowing there's someone to argue with.

And yes, I know I’m not supposed to compare.
I know my journey is my own.

But I’m also just a human being on this messy, lonely planet -
trying to make sense of an absence that never really goes away.

---

The People We Try to Make Permanent

On behalf of all the single children out there:

We spend our lives becoming the best temporary person in someone else’s permanent world.
Maybe it’s because we never had that built-in bond - that sibling to share silence with, to grow around like roots of the same tree.

So we search.
For that missing connection.
For someone to text the moment we wake up and the last time before we sleep.
Not for romance. Just for presence.
A shared breath in a lonely world.

And when we find them - even for a while - it feels like healing.
The conversations flow, the laughter feels real, and for once, you don’t feel like an outsider in your own story.

But then life happens.
To them.

And slowly, the messages stop. The calls fade.
The space that felt like home becomes silent again.

And there we are - back in the wilderness.
Wondering if you were ever really there to begin with.

I have a couple of people in my life right now - kind, beautiful souls I pour my heart into.
But some nights I wake up with this quiet panic in my chest…

What if one day they move on - and I’m the only one left holding the memory?

I think most single children know that fear.
The fear of being temporary in everyone else's forever.

---

The Loudest Laughers, The Loneliest Rooms

We keep ourselves happy out there - or at least, we try.
We’re not pretending to be someone we’re not.

We’re genuinely funny. Charismatic. The ones making others laugh.
People assume we’re the happiest people in the room.
And maybe, in those moments, we are.

But once we’re home… the silence starts piercing through each cell of us.
Not just the room - but our skin, our bones, our breath.

It’s a kind of silence only those without a sibling can truly understand.
A silence that doesn’t echo - because no one’s ever expected to answer back.

---

To All the Single Children Out There

Maybe we were meant to walk this road alone.
But in the silence, we still write letters.

And maybe these letters help someone else feel a little less alone.

And maybe sometimes… blood is blood.
And nothing can replace it other than our own blood.

So I guess we have to get married.
Have a child.
Give them the sibling we never had.
(And maybe tell them to read this one day.)