The peanut butter goes slower

The+peanut+butter+goes+slower

When I was little, it was called throwing an Elmo doll at him.

As I grew a little older, it was called playing. A bit further along the road, it was bugging him; then yelling and arguing, and the normal life of a brother and sister.

When my older sister left, though, it changed. I began to realize that I needed to be nice to him and hang out with him because soon, he would be who knows where.

He is one of the most influential people in my life. He ran varsity cross country and played varsity soccer in the same season. He participated in Science Olympiad. He ran track. He played the clarinet in the marching band, along with being a section leader. He was a straight “A” student and took many AP classes. He was a National Honors Society board member.

And although he hardly slept, he still found time to hang out with his annoying little sister.

He wouldn’t be around forever.”

He didn’t care how late he would have to stay up; he did all the activities he loved to do with all of the people he loves. When we both had mounds of homework, we would still procrastinate and do the dishes slowly with music playing in the background.

He instantly becomes friends with anyone he meets. With one of the kindest personalities of anyone I have ever met, he is one people talk to easily.

He is passionate about everything. Nothing could ever take away his endless dedication to everything he does and cares about.

He also is a fighter. I don’t remember the last time I saw him cry. He even contracted a potentially deadly disease—MRSA—and I don’t remember him shedding a single tear. Granted, I was little and wasn’t with him when he was in the hospital, but he hid the tears for his learning little sister.

He wanted to seem tough. He wanted to be a good role model, but he wouldn’t be around forever.

My sister was the first to abandon us, however. She applied for many colleges—the closest being Ann Arbor, and the furthest being Stanford, California—one of them being Princeton. She wrote an essay on being inspired by me.

Three years later, my brother also applied for Princeton. He wrote about my sister just as she wrote about me.

So here is my Princeton application essay.

Although he is not at Princeton currently, he is still away. His room is left empty day after day. The “kids” car is no longer sitting in the driveway when I get home from ballet.

The kitchen and living room seem lonely. They are missing one of their friends. The pantries get stuffed with the food we no longer consume as fast. The peanut butter lasts months.

Food gets eaten slower when there is only one person around to eat it.

Now, it is called missing him.