I remember when things weren't always like this between you and me. I remember when we used to get along, even if we did get into tons of fights beforehand. One of my favorite memories is one that Mom told us as a bedtime story not too long ago.

It was around the time when I was three years old and you were about four or five. Dad and Na weren't home and so it was just me, you, and Mom. You and I were in the living room, playing as little children do; me with my Barbie and you with your shiny, red fire truck. Deciding that we were doing a good job of entertaining ourselves, Mom left us in the living room to go check something in her and Dad's bedroom.

Now, growing up, I was not your average little girl. I loved climbing trees but I also loved wearing dresses. I would play video games intensely but I still adored my Barbie. I hung out with all the neighbor boys but still loved playing school with Na. There were moments where I could scream and look intimidating but I always hear stories about how I was the biggest crybaby as well. In some respects, I was a tomboy but in other senses, not so much.

As my older brother, being scared of me wasn't an option. For one thing, as my older brother it was your job, no, your responsibility to be a good role model and watch over me. For another, you were an older boy. And well, being scared of a younger girl was quite unheard of in the boys' handbook. It just wasn't done.

So when Mom heard your loud, almost scared scream, she panicked a little. She rushed out to the living room as quickly as she could and you ran, arms outstretched, right to her. I huffed and puffed behind, looking ready to punch someone in the face…and then some more. I was quite angry. Mom picked you up in one hand and you buried your head into her shoulder, as if that could keep you safe away from me. You peeked your head up, looked at me, and stuck your tongue at me. That set me off quite a bit. I huffed and puffed some more and put my balled up hands on my hips. I glared at you angrily and began yelling nonsensical things at you. Feeling secured in Mom's arms, you retaliated.

We went off in a yelling match for a good ten seconds before I had had enough and nearly jumped on you. Mom, deciding that enough was enough, heaved me up into one of her arms as well, holding us separately in each of her arms. She scolded at both of us, told us to stop yelling at each other, and asked us what happened. After a minute or so of confusion and jumbled up yelling, Mom finally got the whole story: I wanted to play with your red fire truck but you simply wouldn't let me because, after all, it was your fire truck, not mine. And besides, I had my Barbie, didn't I?

By this point, I was so angered and on the verge of tears. It just wasn't fair. So what, I did have my Barbie but I really wanted that fire truck. Why couldn't you simply share?

I looked at Mom, hoping that my expression would convey better than my words that I simply needed the fire truck. Mom sighed and I sensed a feeling of a lost battle came over me. There simply was no way she would understand the difficulties of being three years old.

I was right. Mom told us what we would do. You could play with it for five minutes and after the five minutes were up, you would give it to me to play with for five minutes. It wasn't the best solution but it was logical enough. I sighed. I wanted to argue some more but I didn't know how and plus, Mom had decided and whatever Mom decides, goes, right?

Mom set us both down and watched as we both went stiffly to our own sides of the room. She watched us for a little bit before remembering she had things she needed to get done. Not entirely wanting to, Mom returned back to her room.

A solid ten minutes had passed and Mom hadn't heard any noise from us from her bedroom. The lack of noise worried her and so she decided to check up on us. However, when she entered the living room and looked at what was going on, she realized that she had no reason to be scared.

You and I were both playing together, happily. I had my Barbie on top of the fire truck and you were pushing around the truck while I made sound effects. There was not a single feeling of anger or bitterness between us. We simply were enjoying each other's company and playing together. We were happy.

Mom silently crept back to her room with a smile on her face, happily knowing that although her two youngest children would get into fights, by the end of the day, they would be cheerfully playing together again.

Author's Note: I honestly don't know what this is but it is a true story. It's a story my mom told about my older brother and I when we were young. I really do miss my childhood memories with him and I hate how things aren't the best or remotely close to the way they were but I guess that's just life. The 'Na' character in this story was my older sister. Anyways, just a bit of random reminiscing writing but I hope you enjoyed it.