My first memory of you is bathed in blue.

Outside the window, the sky was the color of those cartoonish raindrops you used to draw for Mom to hang up on the refrigerator. Around your shoulders was your old baby quilt that you refused to let go of, worn as a cape might be, as if all those cosy memories of being wrapped up and held tight by Mom gave you superpowers. You looked at me curiously, your head slowly tilting to one side in confusion. I don’t think you knew quite what of make of me at first, and I’m not sure what I knew what to make of you. But your smile—it was a warming presence. The way your lips lifted slightly upward, lopsided; the way your one dimple crinkled every so slightly; the way your face shimmered with some imperceptible glow. And your eyes—your eyes shone like bright pebbles, washed by the ocean waves. 

I memorized the way your footsteps sounded as you approached my room—it was a bump as you climbed the last step of the stairs, and a tip-tap-tip-tap when you padded over the uneven floorboards. You would come bursting in through the door, wanting to do all kinds of pranks and play all kinds of games, and I would love it. My favorite was Fort—we’d sneak into Mom and Dad’s room and gather all the bedsheets, stretching them over two rickety wooden chairs. And beneath those yellow blankets so brightly adorned with rainbow flowers, we sat, the masters of our own tiny universe. We slayed dragons, rescued my teddy bear Cece and my favorite Barbie from the GI Joe monster.

Mom and Dad brought us to the beach every year around the same time—it was always early June, in the kind of summer glow some could only wish for. The sand was the most gentle hue of gold, almost earthen and muted. Oh, I loved the beach. I loved the driftwood that washed up upon the buoyant waves, almost like tiny little lifeboats for the little pink conch shells that delicately balanced upon them when they arrived onshore. I loved the feel of the wet seaweed under my feet, I loved the gritty feel of the sand—you taught me how to build sandcastles. I watched as you plopped yourself down five feet from the splashing water, scooping up bucketfuls of the damp stuff. I was mesmerized by the tiny grains, by the way they slowly slid from your too-small hands. For that tiny moment, the waves hushed and the seagulls held their chattering. I bet we were the perfect picture then—the kind of sweet photograph someone would slap a filter on and stick on a postcard. And really, everything about that moment was perfect—from the slightly cooling breeze that tickled my cheeks, to the neatly rounded turrets of your castle. Every time it seemed like you were almost done, the corner of the castle would crumble as if it were a raisin cake at the hand of a hungry baby. It took ever so long...as you sat there, shaping it ever so carefully, I imagined the inner life of your castle, with music echoing from within, bringing kings and queens and lords and ladies to their dancing feet. I would picture myself as the princess, twirling through the halls. You would pretend not to see me, but I caught the twinkle in your eyes even as you tried not to laugh at my silliness. To think I used to be romantic like that—to think I used to dream about such things. To think that you used to be like that—so carefree, so sweet, so one with the world, so unapologetically yourself.

And now...I can tell just from the way you walk that you’re insecure; your shoulders are hunched over as if they’re trying to shield something within you.

I have two questions:

Don’t you know you have nothing you need to hide from me?

Who are you now?

I don’t recognize the person you’ve become.

Your footsteps are heavy, a clomp when you reach the top of the stairs. And it’s no longer a bump-bump-bump as you make your way towards my room, but a thump-thump-thump as you stomp to your own, and a bam as you slam your door. 

I can no longer be myself around you. Every time I catch sight of you, I feel like screaming for lack of control. I need to say the right thing, I need to have the right expression on my face, I need to do the right thing. So every time you come home from whatever it is you do now, I smile, hoping to lighten the burden you throw upon yourself. I pray for something amazing to happen. I envision your eyes lightening and you smiling back, like a light turning on in a dark room. But all I ever get is a scowl as you turn away and leave the room, dropping your bag carelessly on the kitchen floor.

You left me.

The fact that I once loved you means I always will, no matter the harsh words or the failings of the moment. I have tried to ice over those memories of us; I have tried to tell myself you never meant that much, or that over time my heart learned to live without yours. But though you have ceased to be my friend, you are still my brother. The truth is that you are still a part of my soul, all those times you laughed, smiled. I honestly don't know what kind of parting this is. You are still here with me, but I no longer know you. I can only cling on to the memories of what we once were. Perhaps we will walk on diverging paths forever, onwards to new adventures. Perhaps we come back together after a time. All I know is this: I have loved you. I have loved you, through I am both near and far. You are both forgiven and eternal. You may not be forever, but those memories of you?

I will keep them for the rest of my life.