I’ll write to both. I don’t want to be unfair.
The earliest memory I have of you is when I was five and you were three. I screamed at you for some reason and you cried. I felt very accomplished for some reason. I made you cry without laying a hand on you. Bad I know. Up till this day, you’re the one I vent most of my anger on. I can be mean to you but of course, you have your limits and then you will complain but I will still continue to be mean to you. You tell me a lot of things even though I don’t tell you any of mine. You felt happy when I was the smartest or most accomplished sister among all your friends and you can talk to me while some of their sisters are like strangers. I don’t know why you guys even compare. Those who didn’t know we were siblings thought we had something. Dumb idea. I have always tried to kill that huge ego of yours and I will never stop. You are a good brother. NO BRINGING YOUR GIRLFRIEND INTO OUR HOUSE, THANKS.
Hmm, the earliest memory was I think you were barely a few months old. I was six. I wanted to try to see of I push the lock on the knob and went outside and close it, will it really lock. You were in that room, on the bed. Awake. I tried and yay, I can lock it without staying inside the room. And yes, I realised I had no way of going back in. Mother scolded me ‘cos you might roll of the bed or something and had to find the keys to open the room. I have never seen those keys before. Well, then again, who would be dumb enough to try what I did. I know you wish I was those kind of sister, the kind that reads storybooks to you, listen to you, bring you home from school everyday. And I know I keep pushing the dates until it might never happen. I know you like me more than our brother. I will try to be a better sister. And I will still continue to call you fat. Love.