Little Brother

Can you think of someone, anyone, who is your oldest friend, someone you can’t remember your childhood without, someone who has been with you through thick and thin, someone who you fought with, then made up, someone who blackmailed you with your secrets but never told anyone, someone who has always shared everything with you, including the last piece of cake that everyone fights for.

A lot of people are popping up in your head right now, but in mine, I can see one person.

He was born on November 9, 1989, a year and 8 moths after my birth date. He was chubby, pink, and blond. Everyone at the hospital was in awe at what a beautiful baby he was. At the time, I was preoccupied with my red tricycle and shoes to notice the new family member.

Before long, he was walking behind me, playing with me; from Barbies to cars; and even sharing some of my clothes. Growing up in Canada with Lebanese roots and Arabic being spoken at home, no one could understand his heavy Anglo-Arab words but me.

The older we grew, the more distracted we got with our own lives. The last days of school were marked by official exams, SATs, and university applications. Then came the messed up university schedule, finals, projects, friends, and work. Before we knew it, I was planning a marriage, and he was planning to work abroad.

Now, my little brother is a man, and living and working in another country.

I no longer see him everyday after work, or fight with him because he made me late to work in the morning. No more evening talks about plans, girls, life, education… n no more pancakes with extra Nutella.

I can’t see my little brother everyday and I miss him.