In third grade while lining up for a class photo, the photographer pulled aside me and my identical twin sister, Nina. After everyone was organized into neat rows, he put me on one end and Nina on another to create a “pleasing symmetry.” As the two photo bookends, we’ve come to expect this every year. 

Part of being a twin is understanding that you are both a piece and a whole at the same time—maybe even before time. I was known as “Twin A” before I was ever Keira. Being an identical twin means that people see you not just as a twin but as their concept of Twins. We are “replicas” and an inseparable pair.

People enjoy guessing who is who, like we’re a challenge. Those who feel brave enough to try will stare intently at us and exclaim enthusiastically when they guess the right name. “You have a 50% chance,” we politely offer with perfunctory smiles. 

When Nina and I were babies, our parents used to paint one of my nails red so that they would not mix us up. In middle school, people used to look at our backpacks with our names embroidered. Now, some people even alternate between calling my name and my sister’s name to see which one sparks a response. Jokes on them: we respond to both. 

It’s true we do have a lot in common. We have a nearly identical sense of humor, style, music taste, and of course, appearance. It is not a coincidence that we share the same favorite movie: The Parent Trap.

As others have struggled to tell us apart, I have struggled to differentiate myself beyond the microscopic freckle or different colored eye glasses we wear. I used these details to automatically respond to the inevitable question: “how do I tell which one is which?” Without these details, I did not know what made me Keira, an individual. 

Prompted by the need to differentiate us beyond physical details, I took to discovering new hobbies. In elementary school, I learned to play guitar after my sister joined the choir, so I could find my own musical tool. I started acrylic painting in middle school when my sister started watercolor painting, so we could both be artistic, but in our own ways. I worked to claim a hobby, rather than enjoy it, so we could each be known for some talent. As a twin, you share so much without having consented to it. Every time I do something different from Nina, it feels like a declaration of independence and individuality. I hated the idea of another person easily replacing me, so I sacredly guarded anything unique to me. 

However, entering high school, I found a situation I had not expected: our differences seemed to have pushed her further from me. We’ve embraced different curly hair routines and different sports in our free time. Of course, I love it when someone calls me by my name, and it is validating for people to say we look nothing alike, but it is also conflicting. Despite struggling to be my own person for years, when I am finally recognized as one, I feel as though I am betraying myself and my twin for having pride in our differences. What if our differences pull us further away from the special bond we share as identical twins? We are a rare genetic occurrence, after all. 

I’m still working to balance our similarities with our differences, but I have come a long way. Nina and I don’t change when we accidentally wear the same outfit or switch clubs when we happen to join the same one—instead we embrace the familiarity and comfort of our own world of laughter and synchronization. We have made each other laugh ever since we were babies when the sound of one of us laughing sparked a fit of giggles with the other. I am convinced it accompanies our twin telepathy. However, we have also worked to find and enjoy our own interests—with Nina going for runs and me embracing photography. She is my best friend, and our twin bond has resulted in some of my favorite memories.

 Approaching college and the inevitable moment we will have to choose separate paths, I am eager to embrace an identity beyond “the twins.” When we are apart, though I know I will miss her endlessly, I will also learn invaluable lessons about who I am. As an individual. As Keira.