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To a Sister

Though I know that I had blogged with clear intentions, it seemed that my words had failed me, and the utterances of my hands betrayed that of my heart. I did not write in order to gain sympathy, or to score any popularity points. I wrote because I was amazed at how quickly I had forgotten my own teenage days, and how difficult I was back then.
Your brother is hardly a model to follow after. You may have been too young to have known that your brother used to be in a gang, and hung out with people who did drugs. Or that your brother stole money because he was too afraid of being rejected had he asked for it. Or that your brother battles lust continually that has stained his soul for so long a time.
If I had to recommend a person for you to look up to, I would have been the last person on my own list.
I wrote because I wanted you to know that I care for you a great deal. That I constantly pray for you that you may not fall into the traps I did. I was ashamed to have been angry at you, because I had done things that were so much worse. I wrote a letter to Mom telling her that if I were a mother, I wouldn't do things the way she did. That's who I am.
In the pits of my own heart I know that I am no one to tell anyone what to do. I constantly fear that the old me is still very much within me, and that even on a subconscious level I've not been a good brother unto you. The blanket that used to hang on the wall at Grandma's place back in Muar had a picture of me carrying you on it. I remember often looking at it and wanting to be the best brother you could ever have.
I know I'm far from it. I'm learning, even if very slowly. Be patient with me.
Come home early. Be safe.
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