Even though I think of him almost every day, I make it a point to take some time aside every year on this particular day to remember my brother on the anniversary of his death. (Every time I catch myself- I'm tempted to say 'baby brother' only to realize that it's been more than a decade.)
This year, I'm going to be going crazy with packing and getting ready to leave the States for Hong Kong tomorrow that I probably won't have a chance later on to reflect.
It's strange to think that he would have been turning fourteen in a few days. He would have been starting high school and my sisters and I would be giving him unsolicited advice on which teachers to avoid and tricks upperclassmen pulled on unsuspecting freshmen ("No Kevin, no matter what anyone tells you - there is no Upper K building.") while he would probably complain good-naturedly that he could take care of himself, sheesh.
It's even more unsettling to know that my parents and I are silently mourning alone, like we do every year. My sisters were both too young to remember him when he passed.
So when I double-check the security alarm before sneaking downstairs in the middle of the night into our shrine room to light some joss sticks and mumble a clumsy prayer (in English, no less) I feel my heart grow heavy with grief and I feel like I'm mourning for my sisters and my parents as well as I'm mourning for myself.
This year, I'm going to be going crazy with packing and getting ready to leave the States for Hong Kong tomorrow that I probably won't have a chance later on to reflect.
It's strange to think that he would have been turning fourteen in a few days. He would have been starting high school and my sisters and I would be giving him unsolicited advice on which teachers to avoid and tricks upperclassmen pulled on unsuspecting freshmen ("No Kevin, no matter what anyone tells you - there is no Upper K building.") while he would probably complain good-naturedly that he could take care of himself, sheesh.
It's even more unsettling to know that my parents and I are silently mourning alone, like we do every year. My sisters were both too young to remember him when he passed.
So when I double-check the security alarm before sneaking downstairs in the middle of the night into our shrine room to light some joss sticks and mumble a clumsy prayer (in English, no less) I feel my heart grow heavy with grief and I feel like I'm mourning for my sisters and my parents as well as I'm mourning for myself.
