I wasn't meant to be an only child. My mother has four siblings, and, by some freakish coincidence, so does pretty much everyone in her family. So naturally, when she had me, she assumed I'd be the eldest in a long lineage of little Goldsztajns. When it turned out the universe had other plans for us, she worried that I would grow up to be spoiled—which is why she decided to treat my father and me as though we were brother and sister. Her (brilliant) idea was that she could teach me to share and compromise this way, and it worked beyond her expectations: my dad and I bicker just like siblings.

As a child, I used to imagine what it would be like to have an older brother, one who would tattletale and pull my hair, but one who would double as a protective role model. I saw my friends and my cousins interact with their brothers and sisters, and I couldn’t help but feel a pang of jealousy. But as I grew older, I began to see just how lucky I was.

For one thing, I was spoiled. I am spoiled. My parents have always showered me with gifts, and whether I had a talent for persuasion or they just hated to say no, I usually got whatever I wanted. I wasn’t a brat, though; I knew how privileged I was to own the latest BlackBerry and boutique clothing, and I reveled in every bit of it.

Far beyond the shallow material perks of being an only child, there was opportunity. In tenth grade, I visited Los Angeles and decided I had to attend UCLA. Had to. This would mean thousands of dollars in tuition and plane tickets for me to ship off thousands of miles away from my family in Paris to a school that my parents weren’t even sure they liked. But, as it happened, my grandfather was prepared to fund my studies, and two and a half years later, I was on my way to college in California. Nobody in my family could have afforded to send two children to America! Had I not been an only child, I wouldn’t have met my fabulous friends nor discovered a deep-seated passion for gender studies, nor enjoyed half as many writing opportunities as I have as an undergrad.

I am thankful for the opportunities, but above all, I am thankful for my family. My parents are my best friends, and they continue to be so from across the Atlantic—perhaps even more so. I value the relationship I have with them and the lessons they have taught me above most everything. We are not "the child" and "the parents," we are a family unit.

Although I rely on my mum and dad for guidance, reassurance, and a good laugh, the fact that the idea of moving to another continent by myself at age 17 didn't faze me in the slightest says a lot about my only child upbringing. I am independent as f*ck. I am genuinely confused and surprised when someone wants to walk with me, because most days, I’d rather get lost in my music and my surroundings, and I have no problem going to the movies by myself—in fact, I wish I did so more often. I am genuinely and deeply fascinated by people, all people, but being alone doesn't scare me; in fact, it drives me.

And on those days when I do feel lonely (yes, I have those too), I can't think of a time when I didn't have a sibling figure in my life. I had my neighbor Jeanne growing up and my cousin Grace; I have my sorority sisters and friends who wholeheartedly defend me against all evil. In a way, I am less lonely as an only child, blessed as I am with strong, lasting relationships. Whatever not having siblings implies, it has shaped my identity far more than my nationality, my gender, or my buying power ever will.