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The Incomplete Picture
I hated my older brother. If I could trade him for my parents, I would do it. Nothing was more painful than seeing my parents lifeless by the roadside because of a reckless driver. I couldn't do much about it, and my brother didn't try hard enough to help the police give them justice.
We received cash assistance, but not long, I found myself with almost nothing to eat. My friends were also poor, so I couldn't lean on them. I must eke out the waning resources I had. I must find a way to earn money because my brother seemed to have abandoned me.
My dream of studying in college shattered like thin glass. I had to think and work hard to survive. I sometimes tutored my neighbor's children in exchange for rice and some money. There were times I helped my neighbors do house chores. I must rely on myself. I didn't know why but some of my friends even started to avoid me.
And my brother worsened the situation.
He started going home late at night. Sometimes, he was drunk and noisy. One night, I saw his head bleeding. I asked about it but he ignored me. One day, our old electric fan disappeared. Then, my brother went home with a small bag of rice.
"Did you sell our fan?" I asked. "This amount of rice is not enough for that."
"Just cook and eat," he said.
There was no point arguing against him. He didn't care. One day, I heard that some of our neighbors were targeted by thieves, and my brother might have been involved. I didn't know what to believe anymore. I didn't want to talk to him anymore. I even didn't know where he usually ate and spent his time. When he went home drunk again and vomited on the floor, I yelled and cursed him. He slept on the floor the whole night. I saw some tears flowing down his cheeks, but I didn't care.
Months passed. He didn't change. He got thinner and more disheveled. Then one day, my brother was found by the roadside, drenched in the rain. He was not breathing anymore. It was pneumonia that got him. That explained his frequent coughing days before that.
I still cried for him. He was my brother.
My mind often floated like nimbus clouds. I knew I must keep on fighting, but I didn't know how.
I entered my brother's stale room one afternoon. I want to throw his things away. I didn't want to be reminded of the dark past. I will try to find a job. Or maybe beg on the streets. I don't know. Then, I found myself cleaning his room. Under his bed, I noticed a dusty piggy bank. It was almost full and heavy. I lifted it and placed it on the table. On one of its sides, something is written on it:
Ben---College. Sorry. This is not enough.
A teardrop fell onto the floor.
© All Rights Reserved
We received cash assistance, but not long, I found myself with almost nothing to eat. My friends were also poor, so I couldn't lean on them. I must eke out the waning resources I had. I must find a way to earn money because my brother seemed to have abandoned me.
My dream of studying in college shattered like thin glass. I had to think and work hard to survive. I sometimes tutored my neighbor's children in exchange for rice and some money. There were times I helped my neighbors do house chores. I must rely on myself. I didn't know why but some of my friends even started to avoid me.
And my brother worsened the situation.
He started going home late at night. Sometimes, he was drunk and noisy. One night, I saw his head bleeding. I asked about it but he ignored me. One day, our old electric fan disappeared. Then, my brother went home with a small bag of rice.
"Did you sell our fan?" I asked. "This amount of rice is not enough for that."
"Just cook and eat," he said.
There was no point arguing against him. He didn't care. One day, I heard that some of our neighbors were targeted by thieves, and my brother might have been involved. I didn't know what to believe anymore. I didn't want to talk to him anymore. I even didn't know where he usually ate and spent his time. When he went home drunk again and vomited on the floor, I yelled and cursed him. He slept on the floor the whole night. I saw some tears flowing down his cheeks, but I didn't care.
Months passed. He didn't change. He got thinner and more disheveled. Then one day, my brother was found by the roadside, drenched in the rain. He was not breathing anymore. It was pneumonia that got him. That explained his frequent coughing days before that.
I still cried for him. He was my brother.
My mind often floated like nimbus clouds. I knew I must keep on fighting, but I didn't know how.
I entered my brother's stale room one afternoon. I want to throw his things away. I didn't want to be reminded of the dark past. I will try to find a job. Or maybe beg on the streets. I don't know. Then, I found myself cleaning his room. Under his bed, I noticed a dusty piggy bank. It was almost full and heavy. I lifted it and placed it on the table. On one of its sides, something is written on it:
Ben---College. Sorry. This is not enough.
A teardrop fell onto the floor.
© All Rights Reserved
