“Nothing is real if you cannot see it,” mother said as I came running to the bedroom, younger brother in tow, with a story of the neighbourhood. Mr. Crawley emerged from a manhole, rats clinging to his trousers and black shit on his bald head. He had been helping convicts escape from the Central Jail, nearby. The news channels blocked our entire road. An intricate maze of secret tunnels was discovered and the police were not allowing anyone down there. My brother and I decided to explore them, before they sealed it off, and bring back photographic evidence for mother lying in bed.
I climbed the first few rungs with one hand holding out a big, silver star.
The edge of our roof had a little moss on it. I kept the star on top of the tiles and used my free hand to rub out the green, from the hook. “Are you going to put it up this year?” I ignored my brother. I had noticed a folded paper in between one of the tiles. I read it in the bathroom, later.
This Christmas will not be a good one.
All the best,
[Note: I wrote this essay when I was about 16.]
I would be hard pressed to remember a period of time when my younger brother and I were not fighting or arguing. I know many people say that it is common for siblings to fuss and fight with each other, but I think my brother and I took that notion to a whole new level. In my younger years I can remember the both of us fighting over the slightest things, and as we grew older this did not change. The outcomes of our tussles were undesirable for both of us, as we both would get into trouble, but nonetheless we were persistent in our wars against each other (to the distress of our parents). My mother insisted she would have a heart-attack if it continued.
Ironically enough, although we fought a lot we were still very close. Our hostilities towards each other never damaged our brotherly bond and we were always the closest of friends. My brother would always be the first one to find the ‘Playstation’ which my parents would hide and we would alternatively keep a lookout when they were coming home so we could play. Taking into account our numerous fights and quarrels, we never could be separated and to this day remain very close friends and our bond could not be stronger. I feel this is why my brother has influenced me in a significant way. Our relationship stretches farther than flesh and blood, and through our differences he has taught me how to forgive and that life is too short to hold petty grudges.
Although outwardly we don’t always seem to get along, inwardly I admire him even though I would never tell him. My brother is amazingly determined and never gives up in anything that he does. On the football pitch he is the smallest and not very athletic looking but he fights the hardest and is one of the best soccer players that I know. He has taught me that if you try hard you can get where you want to go and in many aspects I am jealous of his tenacity. He always upholds his integrity and honesty and never gives into peer pressure. He is both Head Boy and House Captain at his school and for this he does get a little flak, but he always stands up for himself and never lets anyone get the better of him. For this I admire his character and although I have picked on him all my life he continues to stick by with the utmost loyalty, which is something I respect and try to manipulate in my own character.