A BOND BUILT ON FEAR

“Some wounds don’t come from strangers, they come from the people you expected to make you feel safe.”

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There are days when I ask myself, “Is it true that somehow, I can’t feel like I have a brother?” It’s a question I never wanted to ask, but it keeps finding its way back into my mind.

People always say that having an older brother means having another person who will protect you, guide you, and make you feel safe. But why is it that all I feel is fear?

Tama ba na puro takot ang nararamdaman ko? Every time I see his name pop up on my phone, hindi excitement ang unang pumapasok sa isip ko. It’s anxiety. It’s overthinking. It’s wondering, “Ano na naman kaya ang sasabihin niya?”

It feels like I’m always being watched. Parang bawat kilos ko may mata na nakabantay. And with every small mistake I make, pakiramdam ko unti-unting nawawala yung kalayaan kong maging sarili. Instead of feeling accepted, I feel like I’m constantly being judged.

Sa tuwing naririnig ko yung, “Andiyan na si kuya mo,” I don’t feel relieved. I don’t feel happy. I immediately prepare myself emotionally because I know there’s a chance another insensitive joke will be thrown at me. Another comment that everyone else will laugh at, while I quietly pretend it didn’t hurt.

Maybe to him, they’re just jokes. Maybe he doesn’t even realize the weight of his words. But words have a strange way of staying. They become the voices you hear when you’re alone. They slowly make you question your worth, your confidence, and even your own home.

What’s painful isn’t just the jokes. It’s the fact that I already expect them. I’ve learned to avoid him, not because I hate him, but because avoiding him feels safer than getting hurt again. I find myself thinking of ways to stay out of his sight, to stay quiet, to become smaller, hoping that maybe this time, I won’t become the topic of another joke.

And maybe that’s the saddest part.

Because I shouldn’t have to prepare myself every time my own brother comes home. Home is supposed to be where you can breathe freely, not where you constantly brace yourself for the next wound.

Sometimes I wonder if he’ll ever notice the silence I’ve built around myself. If he’ll ever realize that every joke he laughed at slowly became another reason why I stopped opening up. Maybe he never intended to hurt me. But intentions don’t erase the pain that someone carries long after the laughter ends.

I don’t need a perfect brother. I never did.

I just wish I had someone who made me feel safe instead of scared. Someone whose presence felt like comfort instead of a warning. Someone I could call “kuya” without my heart preparing for another painful moment.

Maybe one day things will change. Maybe one day he’ll understand the things I could never bring myself to say.

But until then, I’ll continue carrying this quiet hope , that someday, the word “brother” will finally feel like love instead of fear.