A Letter to My Brother: The Sun (and If I Could, I’d Bring You the Universe)

Dear Tae,

When I was sixteen and people asked what I wanted to be, I said “a mom.” Life zig-zagged, two marriages came and went, and I learned to let the river choose its banks. I mention it because, in a way, I’ve already felt the thing I was reaching for: getting to stand near someone extraordinary while he grows. You’re my brother, my friend, my favorite plot twist…a dumpling turned anime protagonist with main-character energy.

We’re wildly different. For years you had me in your phone as “Monk on Speed Dial,” which was fair. I was present in mind and principle, but I didn’t speak to you from the soft animal of the heart. I do now, and I’m glad for the evolution.

If there’s one thing I want you to remember, it’s that I’m here as counterweight. You’ll meet teachers and bosses and Very Certain People. Some will fit you; some will try to file your edges down. Rebellion looks cooler from a distance than it sometimes plays, so I’m hesitant with giving you advice (Also, do we really need another war between me and dad? I don’t think there’s enough water on the planet to drown out that fire….).

Tae, I respect your discipline; your ability to color inside the lines even when the neon outside calls your name. That restraint is rarer than anyone tells you. I certainly did not have that at your age, and still refuse to now. I need a lot of convincing for most things, and I know life would probably be easier if I didn’t.

And yet—

I want you free enough to choose your lines.

Your “crazy” sister wants you to chew on this:

1. Question everything, including me. Listen to our parents and your teachers—and then listen to your own life. Write your opinions down. Ask, Is the person advising me living a life I’d trade for? If not, harvest the wisdom and leave the rest. Most of what people call “rules” are scaffolds someone forgot to take down. Should I have done better in high school? Eh, perhaps. But do I regret not finishing college? No. (I am not telling him to not go to college, father. Dad’s on Substack.)

2. Do not shrink to fit. Self-abandonment becomes a reflex if you practice it. Individuate. If you don’t, the world will draft your script and call it destiny. Everyone can go fuck themselves if they don’t like you. Plenty will like you for who you are. Seriously, tell people to go fuck themselves more.

3. Treat your emotions like organs, not opinions. They’re data. Don’t rush to label—locate. Chest? Gut? Throat? Sit with it. That ache is your younger self asking for a hand on the small of his back. Be the one who says, “I’ve got you.”

4. Do things scared. Gratitude isn’t a Hallmark card; it’s oxygen. You wake up, you love who’s around you, you try again. You will screw up. We will be here. The net exists; jump anyway. Jump when you don’t think the net is there. Trust that you will make it. Also, I’m here. What are you scared of?

5. Compare only to yesterday’s you. Did you respond with more grace than last year? Progress. The imaginary gap between you and everyone else’s highlight reel is a hedge fund that only loses. Invest in your weird gifts and let compound interest do what it does.

6. Make room for joy that isn’t productive. Walk nowhere. Listen to a whole album. Learn a useless magic trick. The point of life is not points. Do you trust society? Anything we see? Do you really trust this construct?

7. Guard your attention like it’s sacred land. Most people aren’t evil, they’re distracted. Refuse to live as a notification.

8. Kindness is not weakness. It takes strength to choose to be kind. Never forget that this is a choice that you are actively making; the choice that many cannot make in face of the same circumstances. You may tell people to fuck themselves, but take the high road after. What goes around, surely does come around.

Ultimately, I want you sovereign. Not performative; not sanitized. I want you so fully yourself that comparison feels like a foreign language. On lonely days, remember: solitude visits most thinking people. It’s not a verdict; it’s a vestibule. Step through. The door on the other side is freedom.

You are the sun, kiddo. I’ll keep orbit. If I could, I’d bring you the universe—but you’re busy building your own. You do know why I have the sun tattoo, right?

Love always,

Your sister