He was born over 9 years ago, 11 years younger than me. I wasn’t too happy about the idea of having a younger sibling at first. 11 years of having all the attention to myself, I was afraid it’d all go away. What if my mum forget all about me? I didn’t like him when he was a baby. Sure, he was cute. But he was the child of the man who used to hit me all the time. He was the child of the man I hated the most. And he was noisy and crying all the time and he peed on me every time I tried to carry him. Then a few years went by, I started to dislike him even more. He was rebellious and played all the time and he never listened to me. His grade was always, always bad and I was ashamed because I used to always did well in school. Why couldn’t he do it like I did, why is he so stupid, so embarrassing, I thought. I was not a good sister, no not at all.

But then as a few more years went by, I noticed things. I noticed how he was always get hit by his father every time he did mistakes, I noticed his expressions. I noticed the change in his face every time someone said, “your sister used to it like this and she did it so well.” And the look on his face gradually wiped away this arrogance I used to have every time I hear that sentence. I noticed how one by one the amount of his friend decreased and how the amount of time he used to spend outside playing was replaced by quietly sitting in the living room and watching tv for hours. I noticed how no one cared because everyone was too busy. I was too busy with college and being out of town, my mum was too busy trying to earn money so we can keep on living and getting our education, his father was too busy yelling at him and being useless. I started to notice how lonely he was, and somehow and somewhere during those times, I started to care. To actually care.

I realised that he is not just any boy in my house. He is my brother, my family. And it’s not until I realise how much I care about him, I realise how much he has taught me. He taught me to be responsible. He taught me to stop being a spoiled little princess and grow up. He taught me how to take care of other people. He taught me the irreplaceable happiness of making other people happy. He taught me how to love my family because I do, not because I’m “supposed to”. He taught me to accept his flaws— everyone else’s flaws, that not everyone can live up to my expectation and that’s alright. I can still love them wholeheartedly.

And sometimes there’s this certain look in his eyes that scream loneliness and sometimes it just pains me so much. Sometimes I’d get annoyed when he wakes me up early in the morning every time I’m home, just because he wants to play with me. But then I remember that he has no one else to play with and it always makes me sad. What kind of person is this kid going to be, sometimes I think that to myself. What if he grows up depressed and lonely and feeling unloved. It saddens me so much to think how unfortunate he is, to be born in a family like this, at a time where everyone else has grown up and too busy to be around him. He deserves a better family, I wish he had that.

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