The purpose of this isn’t to try to make you pity me. No. I love my life and my family, don’t be mistaken. But I am taking this opportunity to shed a bit of light and just maybe, share some frustrations that I’ve never expressed before. And keep in mind, it’s a natural and healthy thing to rant every once in a while! Right??! (If you don’t think so then shut up no one cares ;)) Maybe not on a public forum but eh here I go anyways...


Side note: I know, there are worse tragedies in the world.

So yes, I was accompanied at birth by four other people. Big deal. Whoop whoop I totally understand how it’s a rare occurrence so you’re allowed to initially freak out or just think it’s cool or whatever you so desire. I completely, get it. Actually, I’ve learned to appreciate it. Because I consider my family to be living proof that miracles can happen so hey, if I get to prove that miracles exist, simply by living, I’m all for it.

It’s really awkward though when a teacher calls out Katie!! in the hall and you realize that they mistook you for your sister. But it’s no biggie, happens all the time. So you flash them a grin and know in half a second they’ll realize you’re not who they thought you were. Except wait, that doesn’t happen. This teacher walks up to you and starts talking to you about an assignment that you don’t have, for a class you don’t take. So naturally, to save them from embarrassment, you pretend to be your 6’1” sister and promise that you’ll do the assignment. And it’s all fine. We’re all good. That is, until your sister unknowingly walks up and a look of horror fills the teachers face, a look that you know must mirror yours. And it gets a little bit irritating, when after a whole year of being in someone's class, a classmate still can’t tell you apart from your sister. Because really if you even put an ounce of effort into it, you would learn. YA i know it’s hard to when we’re walking the halls or on the basketball court but AT LEAST in the classroom because you know we’ve been sitting in the same seats for an entire semester. You must have been trying awfully hard to not hear our names called even once.

Part of me wishes that for just one day, I could separate my identity from my family’s. Not because I’m not proud of them. No. Just to see what people really think of me, just me. Sometimes I feel like my last name matters more than my first. My individualism is shot. I know I’ll get that fresh start though, in college. When no one will know who I am or where exactly I came from. No one will say “ohhhhh you’re a Bova,” as if that explains my entire existence. What a grand experience that will be, deciding what to tell these temporary strangers or rather, what not to tell them. It’s too bad though that the only thing worse than having my family involved in my life, is not having them in my life.


Just your local Septuplets