He wasn’t my son or my brother, but it still hurts like hell. I want to cry and laugh at the same time as I remember how he used to make fun of my acne-ridden face. We bickered like siblings when we were only cousins. Later on, we would awkwardly greet each other-the time spent as children forgotten.
It hurts to know that he’s gone. It hurts to hear about his dreams of becoming a chef. It hurts to realize that he was only 21.
I wish I could fly home and be there for my family.
But all I can do is pray.