Throughout my whole life, I have always looked up to my brother. He made all A’s, he made the varsity tennis team, had a girlfriend, and graduated valedictorian of his senior class. I thought he had it all. And for myself? ; I was almost there. I had all A’s with two or three B’s here and there, I was always picked last for sports, and was in the top 50 percentile of my high school class. I was pretty happy.
I always thought that my brother got everything he ever wanted in life. My parents rewarded him every time for his outstanding grades and his ability of making it into a really good college. I always hoped I could be as successful as him.
My older brother and I always had this bond with each other. We were so close he could always predict what I was thinking and I could always predict what he was thinking. He would always be the first person I would go to for anything. Anything, whether it is a ride to the grocery store whenever I wanted candy or whenever I really needed someone to talked to. He was always there for me.
Because he was accepted to a college miles and miles away from where we lived, he had to live far and far away, away from the birds nest. Transportation was expensive so that meant I could only see him every few weeks. Tears fall every time I see him leave for college. Every week, I hoped he would come back even if I knew he wasn’t going to come back till maybe a week or two later.
Years have passed and now it was almost my turn to go grow up and become a somebody. My parents always told me to follow in his footsteps. They always hoped I would become a doctor a priest when I grow up. They pushed me and encouraged me to become my brother. Everyday I would listen to their insightful lectures, hoping one day I will get to that point.
My parents pushed me to where they wanted me to go, but all I could do was hope. I believe in hope. Hope works in a way no one can understand. It’s sometimes one of the only things I have when I feel empty; it gives me a sense of fulfillment.