The Story of My Brother and I

September 29, 2009
By , Jatujak, Thailand
“”, I heard a murmur next to my ear. Is it a dream? “Prim!” I felt an ice-cold hand shaking on my right shoulder. It immediately brought me back to the conscious world. As soon as I opened my eyes, I saw a blurry face floating in the dark, “Hey, I know you’re asleep. But wouldja mind if I borrow a quick 500 outa ya?”, my brother said, looking wide awake, his eyes ten times larger than mine. My heavy head slowly turned sideways as I wondered, “What kind of brother is he, waking his little sister up in the middle of a Monday night for 500 baht?” Absolutely, he was not a brother material. My brother was the kind that frequently causes pain in my head, an annoying kind of pain that I don’t know exactly an effective way to treat. However, who knows that such pain will give me one big lesson for life.
If my life was a math equation, the times that my brother and I had fought would probably equal to infinity. It was like we were the total opposite. He had always been my mom’s favorite, while I was dad’s. He was a left handed, while I was a right. He always claimed that I was spoiled, while he was the one who got everything in just a finger-snapped. Plus, he always thought that what he did was cool, when it was so not cool, for instance; driving a vehicle like he was in a race track, buying expensive clothes, and dating many girls at the same time. Thus, for me, I never, ever, see my brother as someone whom I look up to.
It was not until we moved into our new house, when I got to know him better. In our two stories residence, my brother and I took over the second floor. And since my brother was seven years older than me, he had already reached adolescence. Theoretically, he should not be sharing a bathroom with his much younger sister. Sharing a bathroom meant frequent contact, so I noticed that he snuck out almost every night, and some times had friends over without mom and dad’s permission. Obviously, our relationship got worse. Back then, every time he gave me a smirk, it was like all the anger in me would explore, for I felt terrible keeping all those secrets from my parents.
Finally, on a one fine day, my dad and I were on our way to the golf course. My dad asked me whether I knew how often my brother when out with his friends. So, I quickly asked him “why?”, wondering if he knows the truth. Then, my brother became the subject of our conversation. I told my dad that his son was such a wasted, “You see dad? He never, ever got anything done in his whole life!”. I felt so pathetic for him, as I got to the point where I realized I would be going to college before my seven year-older brother graduated, “How embarrassing,”, I muttered to myself. My dad looked at me and slowly turns his sight back on the free way as he said, “But you know? I’m actually very proud of him. Compare to you he’s much more polite. And in fact, I don’t think he’d ever had the same pessimistic attitude you have toward the family members.” I stared at him, feeling like I was trying to swallow something bitter.
And just as simple as that, I started to see my own reflection in other people’s eyes. I was ashamed. My dad was right, compared to others my brother was fine. Instead, I was the one who was just too proud and over looked his positive qualities. I looked at my dad once more, before I rolled down my window and smelled the saltiness of both the urban air and my own tears.
After that, I started to see my brother differently. I enjoy spending more time with him as I learned to accept some of his imperfections. He is a very enjoyable person to be around. And, just a feeling, I think he also noticed the changed in me and getting use to it. Now I realized that no matter what he did, weather or not it was foolish or nonsense, I will agree with him without any doubt because he is my brother. Thus, from then I am more open to him, and see him not as a regular guy, but my only brother. The one I love, and the one who loves me.

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