Happy birthday, Kadija!

Yesterday was my sister Kadija's 33rd birthday.

Happy birthday, Kiz. I love you!

I was 8 when she was born, and I'd been a very happy only child, content to suck up all my parents' attention and love.

But I fell in love with her from the minute she came home from the hospital. She was crazy and cheeky and full of mischief. She gave my parents fits -- and kept us all in stitches.

My other three siblings came in rapid succession after her, and they were like a band of thieves, running together, keeping each other's secrets, the four of them against everyone else. I was so much older, "everyone else" even included me.

But somehow, Kadija and I maintained a special bond. Aside from a love of books, we are absolutely nothing alike. Tahira and I often joke that we think the two of us must have been adopted, because the other three siblings are so utterly and fundamentally different (I am patting myself on the back for my diplomacy with that statement). Despite our oil and water ways, Kadija and I have a closeness -- one of those inexplicable ones that isn't measured by how much we talk on the phone (not much), how much we hang out together (hardly ever), or how much we have in common (not a darn thing).

Mostly, it comes from the fact that I don't agree with many of her choices -- but I try very hard not to judge her. I give her my opinion, oh yes I do, but I love her unconditionally and I would do anything for her -- and she knows it. Similarly, Kadija thinks I'm a bit of a square, with a lame-o life and rigid, Puritan views. And yet, I know this will sound completely contrary, but she is the least judgmental person I know. She accepts me and loves me and is the very definition of what a good friend should be. She is loyal to a fault. Her heart is huge.

Here's a story I'll always remember:

I came home from Kansas City for a holiday vacation. I was still reeling from a break-up from nearly  a YEAR before. I'm not sure where we were going, but the two of us were in the backseat of my parents' car, and I stared glumly out the window. She asked me what was wrong and I shared with her that I had been depressed for almost a year because of this break-up, and the fact that I couldn't shake the depression was making me more depressed.

Kadija is not a mushy person, not in the least. When things are uncomfortable, she often turns to humor. My 18-year-old sister took my hand and said to me, "I've been depressed my whole life."

We laughed, and she held my hand the whole ride -- this girl who eschews affection. And I felt comforted, safe, and understood.

Her comment was funny, but also sad, because I knew it was true. She lives a hard life, my sister does. And now her kids do, too. Much of it is of her own doing, but it's still hard to watch. I know that most of her bad decisions have at their roots profound unhappiness, self-esteem issues and unchecked depression. I wish I could change those things for her. I know that I can't.

She is and always will be my march-to-the-beat-of-her-own-drum, tell it like it is, crack us up, worry us to death, genuine and sincere, devil-may-care sister. She's my very first sibling -- the first person I learned how to unconditionally love.

No matter how old we get, or how our roads diverge, in my heart, the two of us are always holding hands, staring out of the car windows, as life whooshes too quickly by.