I Found My Twin on Facebook

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Last weekend, my friend and I were perusing Facebook together via gmail (you do what you gotta do! She lives in NY), sending each other links to profiles worth checking out — you know, hot guys, mismatched couples, and the odd professor who is trying to be cool by being on Facebook.

Anyway, after one link she sent to me, she wrote, “you are not going to believe this.” Try me! I’m not easily thrown. I clicked.

And then I almost threw up. It was me. The picture was me. The hair, the sunglasses, the discerning gaze. I scanned the profile nervously, reading for clues to see who had hacked my picture. But wait… my birthday wasn’t June 10. I don’t like Blues Traveler. I’m not from Oregon. The profile wasn’t of me. It was of someone who looked exactly like me.

While I’ve always harbored a secret admiration for the Olsens, I don’t think I could ever be part of a twin set. My bizarro’s fb profile has caused me to have a severe identity crisis. I have started to question everything about myself. For one, seeing someone who looks exactly like you is like looking in the most critical mirror possible. So while my friends laugh in awe at the uncanny resemblence, I look at pictures of this girl and wonder: is that how I really look?

Now, this probably isn’t that rare of an occurence. It’s not like I’m so unique – looking. I’m your basic short girl with long brown hair and glasses — there are millions of me out there. But I always thought I had something in me — something in my eyes, maybe, or the angle of my jaw, remnants of my distant (okay, questionable) Native American ancestry — that set me apart.

I guess I’m not that special after all. But I also worry that maybe this girl is the younger, stronger version of myself: Leah Beta. Why should I go on? The other me has more opportunities. She can succeed where I have slacked.

I really should talk to this girl and use this situation to my best advantage. Who knows, maybe we can work out an Olsen-like arrangement, sharing our fur coats and West Village lofts. At the very least, though, she could take my math tests for me, and I could teach her a thing or two about being us.

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