On May 18, 1998, I became an older sibling.

I remember sitting in the hospital, waiting for the announcement of the arrival of this strange new human being. My little brother wasn't cute at all, more gross and small than anything else. Television had lied to me. I mean, it seemed realistic that he'd be born in a pristine state, all clean and sparkly with a pacifier already in his mouth. Needless to say, I was horribly wrong. However, the experiences of growing up with a younger sibling have definitely changed how I've reacted to the world.

Our family of three became a family of four and when my little brother was able to sleep without our parents being beside him, he moved into my room of one. I felt bitter about sharing a room with my little brother and it didn't end there. We ended up sharing toys, television time and our parents affection. I started sharing from the get-go when my parents had to divide up their affection and attention between the both of us. I was old enough to sorta take care of myself, and I learned how to be a little more responsible since my parents didn't always have time to watch over me. Did I feel jealous? Probably.

However, eventually it just became a part of my life, and I grew less resentful. Through my brother, I learned how to compromise what benefited the other party and me. We'd watch one episode of one cartoon this time, and the next time we'd watch an episode of another cartoon. Of course, such deals could potentially fall apart, and I'd throw a mild fit or he'd throw one, but things somehow always worked out (usually at my parents' intervention).

I was grateful to finally have another person in the house that could be creative with me. Growing up, I remember my brother and I playing different games around the house because we were constantly passing ideas back and forth to each other, some more ludicrous than others. We made blanket forts with the dining room chairs together much to my mother's dismay. We had elaborate stories about the cities we built with stacking blocks and stuffed animals we had laying around. We built and we destroyed. We were benevolent and we were harsh. We worked as a team, and we made incredible plans together, which fueled my creativity. Growing up, I didn't have a lot of friends that would come over, and my brother was always willing to put up with my shenanigans.

But sometimes those shenanigans led to accidents and someone getting hurt, and I learned how to forgive, how to empathize better because of my brother. There were times that I had said something horrible that made him cry: something along the lines of I hate you, you're stupid to harsher things like wishing that he didn't exist. He's said the same things to me, which led to tears on my end but in both scenarios, we ended up apologizing to one another and feeling horrific.

I'd often do something extra, like bring him one of his favorite sweets or let him watch the show that he wanted to watch on Cartoon Network. Stuff like this also led to my own passiveness or development of passive-aggressive tendencies, so not all the things that I've learned as an older sibling were good or great, but I'm slowly unlearning old habits.

I felt incredibly protective of my little brother. I wanted him to experience life in the best way possible, and I wanted to guide him him towards that life. As an older sibling, I always liked being in control, of being "in the know," but as my brother grew older, I realized I wasn't going to always be there for him, to be that lamppost that I always thought I'd be. I could offer advice, but I couldn't live his life for him. I couldn't always protect him the other students on the bus that would call him racist names, and I couldn't always be there when he felt upset or stressed. I could always encourage him to do his best, but I often felt like words were not enough, but that's all I had at the time.

The worrying increased when I transferred to a boarding school, where I'd be three hours away from home. I knew how rough high school was, and I knew how hard it was to be the only Asian American in a mostly white school system.

I came home from boarding school one afternoon for a break, and I hadn't seen my brother in well over two months. I looked up to him, and I realized how much he had grown up--not only in height, but in his personality, his thoughts and his habits. Much to my dismay, we grew distant and it was harder to connect to one another. We bonded over video games, over memes and America's Got Talent. We showed each other funny or strange videos or we talked about personal things. Our interests changed and our personalities shaped by our own experiences. A lot can change within just a few months, for better or for worse.

As an older sibling, I learned that witnessing a person's growth, from the beginning, is an experience--overwhelming, tragic, funny, happy. To see my brother pick himself up when he falls apart or to see when he's at his happiest, shyly grinning or laughing at a video, I learned how to let go and to know that that person will eventually find themselves.