To My Brother (Part 1)

What happened to us ?

Author’s Note

Before reading today’s poem, I’d like to share a part of my story. Perhaps it will help you better understand the context behind this letter.

I had a turbulent childhood. I never stayed in one place for very long. I lived almost like a nomad.

I have no memories of my first six years. I was told that after I was born, my mother lived with my paternal grandparents for about a year. Once she had finished breastfeeding me, she left to join my father in the capital, leaving me with my grandmother. It seems I lived there until I was six years old. My parents visited us often, although I no longer remember who was present or absent during those years.

Then my mother came to take us to live with her. From that point on, my memories begin to appear, though only in fragments. I lived with my mother, my father, and my older brother. My mother wasn’t around very much. She left early every morning to run her business in the city’s main market and returned home late in the evening. During the day, my brother and I stayed with one of her sisters.

Then, one evening, when I was nine years old, she became seriously ill. Our aunt came to pick us up, and we were sent to live with our maternal grandparents. That was the moment my story with my brother truly began. By a twist of fate, I ended up in the same classroom same grade as him, despite our three-year age difference.

Everything changed.

I lived with my grandparents for about a year and a half. Then my mother recovered and came to take us, and we moved somewhere else. We lived there for two years before she became ill again, and we had to move in with our paternal grandparents for six months. After that, we returned to live with our parents for another year before moving back once again to our grandparents’ house.

By the time I reached adolescence, I remember telling myself:

No more moving. I chose to stay with my grandma.

I never really felt a particularly strong connection with either my mother or my father’s presence. Their absence didn’t affect me as much as one might expect. I suppose I had simply become used to it.

But it was different with my older brother.

He was the only person who was always there through every move, every change, every new beginning. He is the most constant figure in my childhood memories.

And our relationship was anything but simple.

A mixture of rivalry, brotherhood... and, at times, something that felt almost parental.

This letter became the longest one I have ever written—more than 1,900 words. I discovered that I had more to say to my brother than I ever did to either of my parents. It was also the hardest letter to write, and, even now, the one I feel the most anxious about sharing.

To keep the rhythm of this series, I’ll be sharing it in two parts.

As you read it, I simply ask that you resist the urge to judge or take sides.

This letter is messy—just as the emotional turmoil I felt while writing it was.

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December 16, 2025

Brother,

These words are for you,
even though I strongly doubt you will ever read them.

I will not force fate by sending them to you.
We still carry too many tangled feelings between us.

But I hope that one day,
the universe will somehow lead you to these words.

And if/when that day comes,
I hope—
yes, I deeply hope—
that you will take the time to read them slowly,
to feel the weight of every word,
to see my sincerity through all this chaos.

There are four boys in our family,
but you and I are the only two
who share exactly the same roots.

Our paths,
our destinies,
our lives became intertwined
without our consent,
without any regard for how we felt.

We were close once.
At least, I believed we were.

Perhaps I was still too young,
too innocent,
too much of a child
to see the distance that already existed between us.

As far back as I can remember,
we were always together.

And even when life’s troubles came
and our family had to separate,
the two of us were always kept together.

We grew up together,
were raised together,
and did almost everything together.

When did distance find its way between us?

Perhaps it was then.

It is the only moment that comes to mind.

Maybe I am wrong
to think that our drifting apart
began when we ended up
in the same class in elementary school.

Because from that moment on,
you no longer had anything that was yours alone.

Your social life and mine
became completely intertwined.

And yet, you were never a bad student.

You were hardworking,
disciplined,
intelligent.

It was not your fault,
nor was it mine,
but the fault of adults
and of a culture still bound by old ways.

You passed your exams brilliantly,
but through negligence,
our parents did not claim your report card in time.

It is crazy how a simple piece of paper
can influence someone’s destiny.

And me?
I was simply lucky.

Oh, brother,
how much pressure did you have to carry
all those years?

You never complained.

But what older brother wants to find himself
in the same class
as his annoying little brother,
three years younger?

Our parents treated us differently.

The same classroom,
yet separate set of tools for each of us.

And still,
they never lightened your burden.

Every time you tried to escape,
to choose an activity for yourself,
I was forced into it as well.

I never wanted to study English.

I loved Spanish much more.

But I could never say no to Father.
You know that.

You were my older brother,
yet you lost every right that came with it:

your authority,
your privileges,
your chance.

An older brother walks ahead
and guides those who follow.

But fate forced us
to walk side by side.

I forgot that too.
And I challenged your authority.
I disrespected you.

I even fought you once.

You knew how to assert your strength.
You gave me a good beating.
I deserved it, I know that now.

But all of that—
that’s normal between brothers,
isn’t it?

I have always admired you, you know.
I was simply too proud to admit it.

Growing up beside you
felt suffocating to me as well.

You were like a warden,
the guardian of my prison.

I know you did not choose that role.

Our parents,
often absent,
placed that responsibility on your shoulders.

They forced me to stick to you,
to follow you,
to pester you.

You must have truly hated
that absurd situation.

Now I finally understand, my brother.

I understand that perhaps
you saw me as a rival.

Maybe.

It is only an impression.

But I remember
that you always tried to be the best of us.

And I must admit
that I did not make it easy for you.

You were good
at everything you did.

I was too,
in my own way.

You were a dedicated student,
hardworking, disciplined.

I was the opposite.

I rarely held a book,
and I seldom did my homework.

For everyone,
your success was a certainty,
while mine remained an uncertainty.

Yet I never failed.

Do you know why?

Always right behind you,
sometimes even surpassing you.

Do you know how?

It was because of you.

Nature gifted me
with a good auditory memory.

When you read,
when you studied,
people could hear you
from the other end of the neighborhood.

All I had to do
was listen to you,
and I would remember everything.

I succeeded
because of you.

So know this, my brother:

I am truly
grateful to you.

People compared us constantly—

our grades,
our behavior,
our respectfulness.

They even thought we were twins,

because of our height,
our activities,
despite the three years gap between us.

We were compared far too often.
An unavoidable situation.

And how I hated that.

I imagine you did too,
didn’t you?

I did everything
to be seen for myself,
not as a reflection of you.

You were calm and serious.

I acted like a fool.
I wandered.
A rebel at heart.

You adapted to the system.
I challenged it.

I only wanted
to become fully myself.

To be continued….

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Mirror Question:

Growing up, were you ever compared to someone else— or asked to carry a role that was never really yours?

How do you think that shaped the way you see yourself today?

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More from Thw Letters to My Family:

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CTA

If this poem resonated with you—or reminded you of a part of yourself—I invite you to share your story in the comments. I’d be honored to read it.

And if these words are something you’d rather carry quietly… thank you for being here.

Sometimes, simply knowing we’re not alone is enough.

Your presence in The Mirror Room means more than you know.

P.S. Writing these letters has taken time, honesty, and more courage than I expected.

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Thank you for believing in this work.

With Clarity,
The Mirror Room
Odel A.