| This will remain one of the worst weeks of my life.
Written by my sister:
You are never so old
My brother's name is Tuan Tan, but for as long as I have been speaking, we have called him Sunny. He was born in Vietnam, my mother's first child. My aunts who remain in the country--and who have not seen him since my mother brought him over to America when he was three years old--remember him as an illuminating, delightful little baby who sassed everybody in perfect Cantonese and Vietnamese. He was beautiful. And for those three years, it was just he and my mom.
He is 29 years old and has been my brother for just a little over 22 of them. Despite this length of time, I've only recently begun to know him, when he finally moved home after rebelling in high school, struggling through two years in college, and moving to New York City with the love of his life. In my memories of him from when I was younger he is shrouded in darkness, a part of this older, cooler universe of which I could only dream of being a part. I remember the attic room, which he shared with Jimmy. He snuck in girls and cigarettes and our first dog, Asia, without my parents knowing. I stole his Miss Saigon, Les Miserable, Wu-Tang cds to record onto casette, because I only had a walkman. Later, he bought me my first cd player and then my first cd, Tragic Kingdom, which he subsequently stole back to give to a girl he liked. He had books and books of drawings, graffitti, and poems, which I would snoop through his things to read. I discovered that he had his heart broken by his first girlfriend in high school. I remember that all of his girlfriends were the prettiest girls I'd ever seen.
He doesn't think that he's ever recovered from that first broken heart. He regrets all of his fuck ups from when he was younger, just like Dad said that he would. He smokes and has a thick Boston accent and drinks too much. He is too creative and brilliant and undisciplined for his own good. He is arguably the most charming, attractive, and intelligent person in our entire three families, and we have always loved him, despite ourselves. I have always been proud to have him as my brother. And he loved us. But the fundamental truth is that he was very, very unhappy. He was tired of failure. He was afraid of being alone. He was afraid of growing old. But he was not afraid of death.
We had all had an awesome ten days, since Jimmy came back. Two weekends ago they came down to Brown for a pig roast with my friends. Last weekend I went home with CJ and Ellen for the Asian New Year. When we were together for the New Year, Sunny pulled me aside and told me, "I hadn't realized how much I missed Jimmy." All of us cousins got together both nights at our house, so I know that in these last few moments, he was happy and surrounded by love. He stayed in from work and drove CJ and I back to school on Monday. Wednesday evening Jimmy left for the airport, back to California, and they never got to say goodbye. Afterwards Sunny made a trip to the drug store for some $30 worth of sleeping pills and alcohol. Thursday morning at around 730am he kissed Kiana goodbye and drove 54 minutes straight up I-93 to New Hampshire, where he checked into a tiny motel room. He was happy and loved. He was happy and loved. That is the final irony. He gave us one last incredible moment together, and then, by 2am Friday morning, he was gone.
I miss him. so much. I am. in pieces. My big beautiful brother. My heart and soul. Oh my god, I miss you so much.
There was nothing we could have done and no one to blame. It was his choice. Hopefully he has gone to the better place he wished for. |
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| Today is National Charge Your Vagina Day. Please comply and charge that baby up. Winter is long and grueling. I've already started. Spread the word. |
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| The most amazing photo ever: me wrecking the #1 ranked kid in the world. |
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| My hero is gone.
R.I.P. Steve Irwin |
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