my brother

It is January. As written above. I just thought that I should write this beforehand, before I start to forget. I’m not sure I will remember anything once June rolls in. This is a letter to my one and only brother. 

Dear Amir,

Odd gift, isn’t it? A letter. A way of communication. I’m not a writer, but after what I did in March last year I thought I should start documenting things. Where to start? I feel like I have so many things to say but none appear the moment I touch this pen. Do I say I love you? Do I say I’m sorry? Do I say that I used to resent you?

Years upon years of just, ignoring the fact that I always knew what I felt to you as a sibling. I’m sorry. I’m sorry I was never brave enough to say I love you. I’m sorry I was never brave to say thank you. I’m sorry that I never got to tell you how grateful I am when you do the small gestures I try to overlook. 

I’m sorry I resented you. For always thinking that you were never there for me. You were only five years older than me, what could you have done? I am 4 years older than Diana, and yet I have done less for her than what you have done for me. By direct and indirect ways, you were there for me. 

By not leaving me, by staying in that hell. For taking the brunt of it. I think they took a lot from you. I’m sorry.

I had a dream, in that dream you were so kind to me. You were with your friends, about to go out to hangout somewhere but you saw me wandering around in a carpark, alone. You asked me what I was doing, and invited me to eat dinner with you guys. You were so kind. So were your friends. Everyone was laughing and smiling. 

I felt like I was intruding your time away from the family but my fear of them got to me so I said nothing and followed you. It’s the constant fear and guilt is what holds me back from telling the truth. All these truths, that I appreciate you. A part of my heart is telling me that you should just leave me. That I am a lost cause and to please don’t make it any more painful to be around you.

And as if you heard that part of my soul, you did the opposite. 

You reminded me that our family, no matter how dysfunctional and messed up it is, we are still capable of love. Even if we can’t say it, we find a way to express it. Through the gifts and help you have given me, I am reminded that you are kind. 

Why are you nice to me? I want you to stop, but the logical part of me knows that there is no reason for you to stop. I know you want nothing from me. But behind every act of kindness you do for me, my fear is there. The fear that I can never give back what you gave me. 

I grew up to believe that every single thought and act is transactional. That when you are nice to me, I must be nice to you back. But what if the nice you do for me is something I can just never do? 

I want to tell you the truth that I don't think I will live that long. That I will live to see the day I get to tell you I have done enough. That we are finally even. But I can't. Amir I know I can't. For more or less than 9 years I have wished for my death and I feel as though the date comes closer with every action I make. 

I'm sorry, Amir. I'm sorry that my gift has ended up becoming a plea. I'm sorry that I'm not strong enough. I'm sorry that no matter how hard I chase to be someone like you, I just can't. When I die, I want you to know that I looked up to you. That from the bottom of my heart, I respected you. I respected you so much I wished that you knew. I'm sorry. I love you, Amir. I'm sorry.