So I’m under the belief it’s partly my fault. Close my eyes and squeeze trying to block that thought. Place any burden on me, but please, not that, Lord. Time don’t go back. IT goes forward. Can’t run from the pain, go towards it. Some things can’t be explained, what caused it? Such a beautiful soul so pure, shit. Gonna see you again, I’m sure of it.  
Jay-Z – “Lost One
My brother is God. 
   I don’t mean that in any theoretical form. There is no puzzle to solve or mystery to discover. My brother is my God. I worship him the same way many worship their majestic idols. I think of him. Pray to him. Live by the lessons he taught me. When I am confronted with a situation, I think to myself, What would Enver do? 

     My brother passed away on August 14th, 2006. Two weeks before I left for college. August 14th signified the beginning of my new life.  While the changes that occurred weren’t immediate, the process took place like any life change would. You gotta go down to come up, right? 
     I’ve always been a… um… troubled youth. It’s quite bazaar because somehow I’ve also always been an A student. I remember time after time teachers telling my mom I’m hanging with the wrong kids. That I should get new friends. Somehow I navigated both lives. I wasn’t the smart girl no one talked to. I was the smart girl who finished her work and passed it around the class so we could all be finished and talk again. I wasn’t the teacher’s pet that everyone hated. I was the teacher’s pet that got to bring the detention slips to the principal’s office except I wouldn’t. I would throw them all out and walk around with the “bad kid”for a little while. 
     I wasn’t the best teenager either. When I was 16, my boyfriend was 21 and… after certain event, he wasn’t allowed around anymore. The summer before my brother passed away, I lived with my boyfriend who had a less-than-legal job and I only went home to do laundry. But, I graduated from a top-rank private high school and got an (almost full) scholarship to a decent private Jesuit university. Somehow I worked things out. 
     But I didn’t care. I knew I was going to college but not for what. I didn’t care about myself. About my progress and when sophomore year in college rolled around, I cared about little less than alcohol, pretty dresses and high heels. 
I went through the worst period of my life. 
     My Junior year consisted of psychological analyses and accusations of self-medication. They tried to label it this and that, but what it really was was a severe case of “Don’t Give A Fuck.” I partied everyday except for Sunday and Tuesday (because there was no party.. otherwise, I’d have been there too.) I rarely slept in my own bed and rarely made it to class. I failed 4 of my 5 classes that semester. The only class I passed was Creative Writing. 
    Then I went home and saw my mother. She had aged maybe 7 or 8 years in the past couple months. She was weary. Worried. There was a book about Bipolarity on the shelf. (That’s what they initially said I was: mild bi-polar. I read the psych report and the grad student’s conclusions. She said my mood changed too quickly. That when I talked about my brother I got too sad. And that when we moved onto the next question I calmed down. She also said that having trouble with math is a sign of being bipolar. Bitch, maybe I don’t like math. She was a fucking genius, don’t you think? After my experience with her, I changed my major from Psychology to Advertising. Same shit, less life damaging.)
     My mother was deported once… or twice. When you try to fight an immigration case, the person’s kids usually speak on their behalf. Now, my family isn’t mushy, so the best compliment we give usually relates to school accomplishments or a raise… something like that. Things that have a more tangible value. When they asked my brother what my mom meant to him, he said “She’s my best friend”.  Now this is a 29 year-old man calling his mom his best friend. After he died I realized something… if my mom was his  best friend, that he was hers. On August 14th, 2006, my mom lost her only son and her best friend. This realization changed me the most. 
    If you ask my friends, I used to hate my mother. I didn’t want to be around her, near her, with her. I know that’s hard to understand, but my life is my life and there are reasons for it all. I didn’t really know her. Aside from my brother and people who “watched” me, I raised myself. I learned by myself. But now… she’s my baby, too. We talk. We vibe. We laugh. I make sure I spend time with her when I go home to visit. Unlike when I was first coming home from school. 
  Additionally, I’ve never really been religious. Although I was baptized and did go through with my First Communion. On paper, I’m Catholic. Previously, I was Agnostic. For my final paper in my high-school religion class, my thesis stated that Hip-Hop is a religion. I was a Hip-Hop-ist? Now, I’m just Marjorie.
    I’ve never been okay with praying to someone I’ve never seen or thanking another individual (or entity) for something I worked hard for on my own. Instead of saying “thank god” I should be saying “thank me” or “Thank mom”.  Just my point of view. The person I had learned most from, loved most and admired most was my brother. Not to say I don’t love the rest of my family, but he raised me the most. He influenced all my opinions. You can read my “Book and Street Smart.” Post to see just how much. Normal girls don’t quote Jay-Z. Normal girls don’t quote gangster films.  But I’m not a normal girl. I’m my brother’s sister. I believe in Enver. 
     I love Enver more than I love anything else in or out of this world. If there is a heaven, he is in it and he can watch my every move (because he would like it like that). And if he was a King on earth, he must be a God in the afterlife. He wouldn’t settle for less. He deserves no less. I no longer do anything (no matter if behind closed doors or not) that he wouldn’t be proud of. Now I am no saint, and I am no prude… but I aim to conduct myself like a female my brother would have respected.  I just friended his best friend on Facebook and immediately scrolled through my profile pictures to make sure they were all decent. 
    When it comes to men & relationships… guys don’t really mean much to me. I already had the greatest man in the world & had the pleasure of being his sister. I know what it is to be loved. I don’t need any other man until he can stand beside me and stand up to the image my brother was. Enver still has a say in how far a man will get with me. & since he can’t do it in the physical form, his cousins and friends have gladly taken on the burden. I might have lost one brother but I gained a dozen. 
     When I don’t know what to do I listen to Jay-Z, because… that’s my “mass” you can say. My brother believed what Jay had to say, so I do to. He was a real fan. While everyone threw flowers as my brother’s casket was lowered, I threw the Reasonable Doubt I made them play at the funeral home.
     Example: I was talking to a guy this summer and questioned whether or not I should move forward with him… so I listened to Jay-Z.  Jay-Z has 11 studio albums, 3 collabo albums, 1 soundtrack and various compilation albums (If you know me at all, you know I own them all. Two of each. One for me and one for Enver.) and  of allllllllllll the possible songs that could play, I happened to listen to “Show You How” on BluePrint 2. (Yes, random.) There’s a lyric that says “Ma, don’t give him nothing unless he’s treating you special. Soon he’ll get desperate and go down and bless you. & When he come up for air, with a mouth full of hair, grab you’re Coach bag and get the fuck outta there.” –And that’s the word. And that’s how I live it.  
     I believe that he died for me. I know that sounds blasphemous or whatever… but you’re allowed to pick your God, I’m going to pick mine. And at least I knew mine. And he loved me more than anything. I know it. If that “real” God everyone else seems to believe in exists, he knew that this is the only way I can be controlled. He took one life for another. Because, believe me, I might not have lasted. Maybe one day if/when I write that memoir and let you all know the true truths about me, & you’ll see what I mean. 
For now, I just wanted to tell you about my brother.