Sixteen years ago today, my very pregnant mother locked herself in the bathroom after dinner, battling a bout of what she thought was gas. Half an hour later, she realized the abdominal pain was not caused by napa cabbage soup after all -- she was going into labor.

The overnight bag was pulled from the closet. My grandfather was called. As our parents drove away, my sister Joanna and I sat in the living room, waiting. She was six and I was nine. We both wanted a little sister.

And a mere two hours later, we got one.

Upon birth, Sonya became my favorite baby ever in the history of babies. She was cute and funny and would let me dress her in silly hats and take pictures. She made everything more fun -- in the throes of embarrassed adolescence, I was allowed to enjoy things like a kid again because I was experiencing them with my little sister. I used to cry at night imagining what it would be like if she died. I loved her so much.

And I still love her that much. A little over a year ago, at the age of fourteen, Sonya moved to India with my mom and stepdad to go to high school in the foothills of the Himalayas. I am proud of her for doing something so scary, but I also miss her SO much.

Sonya, if you were here today, we would shop for funny t-shirts at St. Vincent's thrift store, gorge ourselves on blueberry pancakes at Wild Thyme and spend the afternoon taking cheesecake photos of cute cats. Happy birthday!

Here we are attacking a little boy together.

I don't want to forget my other sister, Joanna, who is also in India now and who I also miss intensely. But it's not her birthday today, so she doesn't get a whole entry to herself.