Having a brother was never what I wanted. And it even shocked me when I found out Spencer, my brother who was one year older than me, was adopted. I couldn’t sleep for a whole week after my parents had told me the truth; I couldn’t believe I was the only one who did not know. I spent my whole night tossed and turned, feeling dizzy. I had never felt so complicated before. Not even Green Day’s latest album I bought could put a smile on my face. I’d wonder back then why I didn’t have his blue eyes, blonde hair, ski-sloped nose, and his overwhelming smile.

My brother had always been the sunshine boy, surfing and hanging out on the beach, who in all the girls’ words, their ‘prince charming’. And perhaps it was why most of the girls around me wanted to be my friends so much, those desperate girls, like vampires luring for blood. Can you even imagine that?

Despite how hot and sexy the girls thought my brother was, they never knew what he was like at home. He was my all time nightmare, we always argued 18 hours non-stop while, thankfully, the precious 6 hours for sleep.
One hour on “how many times have I told you to turn down the volume when you listen to the music” another hour on “get all your friends out of the house gd***n it they scare the h**l out of me with all the piercings and tattoos” and then another hour on “I’m done with all your pranks, why can’t I just have some time with my girlfriend alone” and it went on and on, and eventually, the next day, it began again.

He was the jerk and I was the wreck. I remembered I called him horrible names which you might not even be glad to know what those are. But look, I never regretted it, because I never meant to hurt him, and so did he. After all, it was just what brothers and sisters would do.

However, there was one thing about him that I just couldn’t understand. He always hated my boyfriends; as in the word ‘hate’, it is not some kind of jealousy, well at least I don’t want it to be, much too gross for a protective brother, eh?
I broke up with my boyfriend on Valentines’ Day, it was two years ago. I walked home, sad. My heart had never been so heavy before. Spencer threw me a cushion when I got home, hinting to start a fight. I was too tired to start an argument with him, so instead, I locked myself in my room and dug my head in the pillow and cried. I didn’t care much anymore, I let my anger and sadness out, so loudly that I swear Britney living across the road could hear it. When I ran out of tears, I lay dead on my bed – very dead indeed – that the silence sounded so loud. Then the door slid open, with a box of chocolate on the floor.

It was from my brother. EW? Giving me a box of chocolate on Valentines’ Day? How cool was that. There was a note too, “Stop crying and eat it,” I could hardly read his hand writing; “gosh you are such a wreck.” I felt the corners of my mouth lifted, my heart throbbing and racing, I felt loved.

Last Christmas, we found out that Spencer had a lump in his brain, it was brain cancer. He had to live in the hospital to be taken special care of. The hospital was a long ride from home, I only got to see him once a week. Every week, he got thinner, and he looked weaker. The other week, when he talked, he was always out of breath. He was too tired for another fight with me.

Last year’s Valentines’ Day, like the old days, I broke up with my boyfriend, and I actually dumped him, before he could dump me. And like every weekend, I spent that day with my brother. I did not tell him about me breaking up, I said I wanted to have fights with him so I rushed to the hospital. He knew I didn’t mean it, he could see it in my eyes.
“You chocolate wreck, I bet you only want chocolate,” he teased.
“I hate you,” I pretended I meant it.

3rd March, 2009, the day before he passed away, he could barely speak. He tried so hard to fight his tears and used all his strength to move his mouth.
“I won’t miss you when I go to heaven,” he mumbled.
“I will take over your room,” I jerked, “and I won’t miss you either,” because you will never leave me.

What we said, we never meant it.
When he said he hated me, he never meant it. When I said I wanted him to go away, I never meant it.

I leaned over to kiss him goodnight on the forehead that night. It was the very first time I kissed him, my heartbeat fast, hot tears running down my cheeks. I tried to hide those red eyes but failed. His overwhelming smile appeared. His overwhelming smile would always appear back then when we had ended our fights.

I didn’t get to see him the very last moment when he was gone. I was half way to the hospital but I knew it was too late.

14th February, 2010, today – Valentines’ Day, I received a delivery. I wondered what it was and who it was from.
I unwrapped it and found a box of chocolate with a note on top. It was Spencer’s handwriting. I could hardly read his handwriting and it made reading even harder with misty eyes. The note said, “Stop crying and eat it, gosh you are still such a wreck.”
I got up to the delivery man before he returned to his car and asked him about the package.
“A young man came to me almost a year ago, it was pretty late already. He gave me a note with scribbled words on it, and asked me to mail it to your address on this day and gave me a lot of money to buy the best chocolate in town,” he continued. “I could barely hear him speak, he was very weak and he looked pale. He told me he walked all the way from the hospital to the post office,”

If I met my brother in heaven, I would tell him I never missed him and that I hated him because he was such a jerk.
He would tell me that he never missed me either, and that he hated me as well because I was such a wreck.

And we’d pretend we meant it.