To My Poopsie Girl - On Your 36th
We grew up together -
four girls woven from the same fragile thread,
Angela, Bommi, you, and me.
Thrown into a world that didn’t always know how to love us right,
learning early that family isn’t just blood -
it’s the hearts that choose to stay.
Our mothers,
both beautiful and broken in their own ways,
couldn’t always hold us the way we needed.
But we held each other -
in scraped knees, in whispered secrets after bedtime,
in the quiet that stretched long between their words.
I was your Budwinkle,
and you, my Poopsie girl.
We weren’t always close.
There were years -
long stretches of silence thick with pride and pain.
Fights that cut deep,
words said in anger,
distance that stretched like a canyon between us.
Times when I wondered if we’d ever find our way back.
But love, true love,
is stubborn and fierce.
It waits in the shadows.
It breathes in the silence.
And it never forgets.
This year, after all the storms,
we flew.
Four flights in just a few days -
Sri Lanka to Singapore,
then Koh Samui,
Bangkok,
and back again.
Just the three of us—
you, me, and Angela.
Bommi was with us always, in our hearts and memories,
but this journey was ours alone.
We shared a room,
a small space heavy with years of unspoken words,
I took two gummies,
you and Angela took one and a half each,
and we passed around a “Double Up” joint.
The world tilted gently,
our laughter spilled like music,
tears came unbidden -
part grief, part relief, part pure joy.
Bangkok felt like a dream.
We spent our days lost in massages,
our bodies and souls unwinding from years of tension,
finding calm in each other’s company.
The go-go bar came later -
a wild, surreal moment we watched together,
laughing at the absurdity,
but holding tightly to each other.
And then there was Singapore again,
Angela’s home,
and little Ad -
just four years old,
already a bright, fierce spark of life.
Watching you with her, Poopsie…
I saw a miracle.
The only child who grew up craving sisterhood
became the sister she never had.
The gentle guardian,
the soft place to land.
You love her with a tenderness
that both breaks and mends my heart.
You carry so much -
years of pain,
storms of anger,
mountains of love,
and oceans of stubborn laughter.
You’ve been a brat,
yes.
You’ve been a fighter,
always.
But above all, you’ve been love -
wild, relentless, and true.
Your haircut still reminds me of Friar Tuck,
and I will never let you live that down 😂
But your spirit?
That cannot be trimmed or tamed.
At 36, I see you -
not just my cousin,
not just my Poopsie girl,
but the woman who breaks and rebuilds herself,
again and again.
Thank you for every time you came back.
Thank you for every time you loved me,
even when it was hard.
I’m proud of you beyond words.
Proud of the scars you wear like badges,
proud of the laughter that rises from your soul,
proud of the love you give so freely,
proud of the sisterhood we fight for every day.
I’m watching our videos now -
wild, messy, beautiful -
and I cry and laugh all at once,
because we have survived,
Because here we are,
still standing,
still loving,
still sisters.
Happy Birthday, Poopsie girl.
May your days be filled with love, light, and blessings.
May your heart stay wild,
and may you always remember -
you are loved beyond measure.
Forever your Budwinkle 💫🩷
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