Tuesday, October 24, 2006

Brother Dear

I’ve always believed that my brother is the most moronic person I know. He’s been my brother for sixteen years, and any hope of us being lovingly devoted to each other has been dashed since the day he said that Patrick (from the sitcom Jake In Progress) is not gay.

Patrick is gay, okay.

There have been other differences of opinion. The most common would be the dish washing schedules. Just last Sunday, the household witnessed a siege; a No One Will Wash The Dishes If You Don’t Because I Won’t siege. The siege ran thus: I have been washing the dishes for a week since it is (I bleed) sembreak. The only time my dear brother has the time to wash the dishes would be during weekends. This weekend, he washed the dishes only once. I demanded that he wash again. He invoked the ancient rule of Ye Who Washed Shall Not Wash Again---meaning, he will not wash the dishes until after my turn. Well, he was right, but certainly the rule must have exemptions! I’ve been doing mindless drudgery for a week now!

To make the story short, we both refused to do the chore. I whined to my mum. She threw a tantrum. My mother likes throwing tantrums lately whenever someone complains to her about house chores, but that’s another story. To say the least, mum was not very helpful as she gave a long winding sermon about responsibility and how frightfully easy it is, in the first place, to wash the goddamned dishes! I retorted by saying that it’s a matter of principle. No one should get away with doing nothing all day, especially when that certain someone successfully decreases the food supply.

The equal division of the pantry is also a sore point between my brother and I. I’m trying to lose weight, but does it mean that he has the right to steal my Butterfingers? No. Like I said, it’s a matter of principle.

Anyway, back to washing dishes. He refused to and I refused to and in the end I washed them Monday morning. I can’t bear staying in a house full of unwashed dishes. Bad vibes. When my brother came home, he sneered at the clean, dishless sink, and asked who washed it. My disintegrated pride and honor forced me into a sullen silence.

Most times, my brother says things he knows I will disagree with. Like the other day, we were watching the news and he commented about Philippine politics. In verbatim: “ang bobobo talaga ng mga Pilipino, dapat talaga umalis na lang tayo lahat sa Pilipinas eh!” in that loud, booming, annoying voice of his. The first few times he made such a statement, I argued. Later on, I just shut up. I’m not entirely sure now whether he actually believes that statement. But, the entity above forbid, I hope not. I’d find it hard to associate myself with someone who has such a dumb opinion of his own race.

He also enjoys dissing UP, my cooking, and my clothes. He likes, no, loves doing anything that he knows would piss me off, especially when he is bored. When people step on your feet, they don’t always step on your bunions. The problem with siblings is that they know exactly where your bunions are, and all the other gory details like what they look and even what they smell like.

Sometimes I get tired of the whole thing. He’s acting like a kid, and I’m an adult. Most days I’d just ignore him, but with someone who keeps annoying the hell out of you, that’s a really difficult thing to do. Growing up with my dear, bratty brother is one of the more difficult trials of my life. He has made me cry more than the Spouse Equivalent managed. It is really unfair when my mum decided to shackle me up with that pain-in-the-ass of a brother for the rest of my life.

What, you were expecting a mushy ending about how I love him besides all his faults? Screw you. I love him, but I won’t say it in a mushy way.


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