Little Brother and Theory of Understanding

“I get it. I get it. I get it.” Sure, I know you get it, but sometimes, we say back to those people, “No, you don’t get it.” I think the real response or answer to those words is, “I know you get it, but you do not understand it.” That is the keyword here.

For the past five days, my younger brother, as well as my father, returned to North America to visit us. It has been six months since his last visit, more than a year since he moved to Honduras with my father so that he can get his life fixed. Life was not easy for either of us, but I am sure my brother suffered more that I did. While I grew up as a proper man, my brother was at the opposite world of smoking and drinking. My brother was in a lot more pain than I have, having done a lot of bad things for the sake of delaying or ignoring all the bad things that had happened to him, that have happened to us. The trauma we both have been through at our parent’s divorce really screwed up our childhood. While I did say that I was a proper man, my trust in human beings sunk greatly because of this. If such a thing can happen in real life right in front of my eyes, I swore to myself never to experience such harsh things again. This was why I secluded myself from people and rarely make friends, for the fear that, one day, the separation of my parents will reoccur with my separation of my closest of friends. From that, even I would not know if I can cope with it, much less live with the fact that my close relationship with my friends are to be shattered by the simplest of things.

As my brother and I talked for what remainder of time we had together, I learned quite a lot of things about him and a bit about the world in general. His comparisons to the life in Honduras with the life of New York City was very realistic and quite vast. I myself learned a bit about through him about life in Honduras and its culture and customs. I also get to hear his struggles. He tells me that no one understands him, not even his family members. Sure, they get what he is trying to say, but understanding through his eyes what he is going through is another different ballpark. He gets kicked out of school several times due to his behavior. He has a producer for whom he his rapping song with, but it is not satisfying him the way it should. He rarely goes outside; there was nothing to do outside. Worse, people do not understand who he is, or what he wants to accomplish. That was where it hit him. He was then forced to face his mistakes and outright fix it. Messing up for two years was definitely the wrong choice. He saw it, but ignored it the en tire time because he wanted to be himself, an identity can he can be proud of. Now that reality slapped him in the face hard, he is forced to cope with his mistakes and correct it to the path it should have been, a road that he has deterred from for a long time. He’s getting there, and I am sure he will.

The theory of understanding bears fruit here. My brother states that while people know who he is, they do not understand who he is. There is truly no way we can get rid of society’s mindset of judgement. This is human nature we have to face. The idea then is to just see above the judgement and find out exactly who those people are. Knowing the core of people would help get people together. A utopian and optemistic attitude, but my brother wants to see the world in a positive light. He cannot be stressed out forever; he needs to live on one way or another and make sure that he can teach the next generation to not make the same mistake he made those years.

My brother has grown up to be a good man. His language and words may need a bit of tuning, but I know he will be a fine man in the long run. In fact, I am proud, as an older brother, that he was able to move on and overcome things for the sake of moving on. I envy that ability: to face one’s problems and live with it. I cannot, for my life as I am now, believe that I can do such a thing. In fact, it seems I am the only one left that needs to move on from that incident six years ago. My father has moved on to live another life in Honduras with a new family and children, my half-brothers and sisters. My mother has a boyfriend who is the bread-bringer in exchange for freeloading the house and not paying any bills. My brother found his “Eureka” moment, thus trying to correct his ways. Me? My body states that I will be a 3rd semester student in high school. My mind? I have been mentally trapped for six years recycling that same moment over and over again as if it happened yesterday. Like the assassination of John F. Kennedy, I remember clearly what happened, where I was, when everything was moving in slow-motion just to taunt me to rage. Yet, here I stand, giving up on the things I should love, on the things I should care about. I left them in the “maybe” section. I lost the will to care.

If there is one thing that keeps me living, that is my engine to continue with my live, it is my brother, my treasure, my sole pride and joy. I love him to bits. After what he told me, he joked about getting a nobel peace prize for what he said. Truth be told, he might as well could have done that. I told him that, if he really believes so, he should write a story about it, an autobiography about his life and the words he has spoken to me. He states that he is not the type of guy that would do such a thing. This is where I come in. If he cannot write it as his own autobiography, I will write it in the way that I feel most comfortable with. in the near future, I will write a fictional story that alludes to our life, our childhood, our deterred paths, and our eventual fixing of it. It will definitely take some time, but I am sure I can write it, as I am sure that both of our roads be fixed. In the end, maybe a few years from now, when everything starts to calm down, and we get our roads fixed up, maybe, just maybe, we can see each other again. Not as the kids we were back then, but as the men who can move on with our lives together. I am sure my brother is bawling in tears right now, thinking about not going back to Honduras, but how he must do so for the sake of making his life better. Until he fully returns to New York City, I will wait. Patiently, I shall wait for the time in which you come back and stay here with he. Then, and only then, will I be the first one to have the privilege, the honor, to say the words that I have wanted to say to him sincerely the entire time: “Welcome home.”

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