I didn’t expect to be in tears on a random Wednesday after school, but that’s just what TikTok does sometimes. I had just sat down with a snack and my phone, ready to mindlessly scroll and decompress after a long day, when a slideshow came up on my TikTok For You page titled “The To-Do List of a Younger Sibling.” Just days earlier, I had helped my family move my older sister, Hana, to her freshman-year dorm room at UT Austin. After reading the list, I made my own version:
Morning
- Wake up.
- Eat breakfast alone.
- Use the mug she painted when we were kids.
- Think of her.
- Text her, even though she’s probably too busy to answer.
- Rinse the mug and continue my routine; it feels emptier now.
- Get ready for the day alone.
- Leave for school and pick whatever song I want on aux — no more arguments over the playlist.
My mornings used to be filled with chaos: arguing over clothes, fighting for counter space in the bathroom and blaming each other for being late for school. Now, my mornings have given way to a quiet routine. I wake up alone, eat alone, brush my teeth, wash my face, do my hair and makeup alone. The sibling empty nest syndrome has felt more real than ever. But even as I go through these motions by myself, I’m surrounded by constant reminders of my sister. I feel her absence everywhere.
I often feel this absence in the smallest things: a mug, her old lunchbox sitting in the pantry and half-used products in the bathroom. The silence of random everyday objects makes me want to call or FaceTime her, but her new schedule rarely matches mine. Instead, I send texts that often stay unanswered for hours.
Afternoon
- Sit in her room for a bit,
- Gaze at her posters and leftover decorations
- Play her record player
- Walk our dog, Carmy, who refuses to leave her bed.
- Take Carmy outside every hour, missing how she used to do this for me.
- Try calling her again
I prefer phone calls or FaceTimes with my sister, but her busy college life often clashes with my schedule. Hana sends pictures and videos showing what she’d been up to, explaining why she hadn’t responded to my messages earlier.
Afternoons were always our time to catch up – complaining about homework on a school night or making spontaneous plans on a weekend. Now, my afternoons are lonely. I’ll find myself in her room, swinging in her hanging chair surrounded by what’s left of her, her things.
And then there’s Carmy, Hana’s dog who has become my responsibility. I’m proud to be Carmy’s auntie, but it’s bittersweet. Carmy is another reminder of her, named after Carmen “Carmy” Berzatto from “The Bear,” a show she introduced me to. We used to watch it together, obsessing over Jeremy Allen White. Now, whenever I walk him, I remember how he followed her everywhere. Now he follows me, waiting for her to come back.
This past summer, my sister and I watched countless hours of the new season of “Love Island USA.” So many afternoons were spent binging the show so we could catch up to the latest episode and participate in voting. Scenes from the show quickly became inside jokes between my sister and I, creating moments of laughter in the living room. Now, the sound of her laughter echoes through the living room, but I’m the only one there to hear it.
Evening
- Dinner feels off, quieter than it should be.
- Think about those nights when we were younger, swapping plates trying to finish our vegetables.
- Realize that the house doesn’t feel quite the same anymore.
- FaceTime her one more time, even if it goes straight to voicemail.
Evenings have been the hardest adjustment since Hana left. The house feels too quiet, and dinner feels off. I still can’t believe our next family dinner at home won’t be until Thanksgiving break, which feels far too long away. Now, I eat either with my parents or alone, staring at the empty chair where she used to sit.
As I settle into my new routine, I am constantly reminded of my sister. Even something so simple as a video on my TikTok For You page pulls those feelings. So many small tangible objects – mugs, posters and even the family dog – serve as reminders of what I can’t always quite put into words: the ache of missing her, paired with the comfort of memories.
