To our eldest brother,

It was late at night and the television program they were watching at the living room sucked. I went to what was then our sari-sari store where another television was set up only to find you there. I was frustrated with the thought of how it sucks to be the youngest and how it sucks more to not watch cartoons when you want it most.

But I sat there, beside you. And you told me to watch National Geographic with you. I laughed and thought those are for nerds, but I watched it with you anyway, which then unfolded my love for the channel. And we sat there, you telling me additional facts, explaining what was happening-- and our age gap of sixteen years disappeared. It was at that moment that I felt your presence most. It was at that moment that you became my brother.

You left for Taiwan and worked abroad. That time I did not feel the loss. I was excited actually, thinking of all the imported stuff I was going to ask from you. All the huge-ass packages I imagined in my head to which my expectations were met. I enjoyed all the chocolates, the doll house set, the blouses, and when I learned that you had a girlfriend there-- I wrote a letter to you, to which I realized was never sent because mom never put it in the post.

In that letter was my request for you to send me snow and who your girlfriend was, how old was she, does she have long hair, was she Taiwanese, does she watch National Geographic too, and what was her name.

Of course, I never got a respond. I don't blame you. It was mom's fault. This was the time the loss started sinking in. I was no longer your favorite. That time I thought you gave her chocolates too, and a dollhouse set, and blouses. That thought broke my heart.

I became hesitant whenever I text or call you because I know your attention belonged to someone else (also because international calls and texts were very expensive), which eventually brought back our age gap.

And finally, you came home. The gap still evident. You bought me material things which you thought would make up for all those years, which at that time did, but for a short while.

We didn't hang out that much anymore because you were busy handling the family business and I was busy graduating elementary and battling puberty. The gap felt like twenty years although it was only sixteen. 

We've had our chitchats but they were never conversations. It was when I was fourteen and sneaked out to a beach party that our parents did not know about. I got busted and was scolded in the family dining room. Being told of how I was a liar, how I will end up pregnant before graduating high school and how come I did not dare ask permission from them.

And there you stood and told them, "Alangan kabalo man siya na kung mananghid siya dili siya sugtan, edi dili nalang siya mananghid." ("She knows you won't allow her to go if she asked, so she'd rather not ask permission.") which was my exact sentiments.

There was also that same year when you taught me how to drive. You told me to watch carefully and then ushered me to the driver's seat afterwards. I asked you was that all someone needs to know to learn to drive because the idea seemed complex before the driving lesson, and you told me that wasn't everything someone needs, it's what I need. You told me I was a fast learner and I'll eventually find out the mechanical stuff afterwards, which I did. But my point here was I was touched with how easily you trusted me and your belief in my learning efficacy.

Then I got to college, not pregnant (hi mom and dad!), and little by little the gap slowly faded. We talked about business, current events, different industries and their processes, people with great minds and their breakthrough inventions-- it was like National Geographic all over again.

Aside from the rambles of facts and biographies, yours was a piece I could not forget. The day you opened up your emotional sentiments was the day you became my brother again.

I couldn't forget the day you told me you broke up with your girlfriend. You were thirty-three and I was seventeen. You told me your reason. "She wants to have children. We've been trying. But I can't." And I started crying too. If it wouldn't be awkward to hug you at that moment I would have. I was crying not only because of the heartbreak you were feeling, but also because of the fact that you cannot be a father biologically.

You would be a great dad. I believe so. Despite your strict and dominant facade, you always had this soft spot in you that I myself saw and experienced. But I couldn't utter them into words because you were crying in front of me and you never cry, so I just sat there and appreciated the rawness, with the misery of not being able to tell you my sentiments.

And today, I was told that she was getting married to her colleague. I was genuinely happy for her. I don't know if I should feel the same for you. Should I? I am proud at the strength you put out in letting her go, so should I? Kuya, I wanna know. I wanna know if you had regrets or if they were necessary. I wanna know how life goes at thirty-five.

I don't have the guts to read this to you nor do I plan on making it known. Funny how the gap is still there despite of it all. Maybe the gap's necessary. It puts us where we should be. Until now I cannot tell you my sentiments, so let's just make this another letter that was unintentionally never sent. This time it wouldn't be mom's fault.

Sincerely,
your youngest sister.