My beloved little brother slipped away from this world a few months ago. We were once inseparable, like Tom and Jerry—those timeless cartoon characters who danced through our childhood days. I'd tease him, affectionately calling him "Jerry" because he bore a resemblance to that mischievous mouse. And I, well, I was the bumbling Tom, always chasing after something just out of reach.

As we grew older, life took us on separate paths. He reached the tender age of 17 or 18, while I counted 24 years on my own journey. But even then, the bond between us remained unbreakable. He was my confidant, my partner in laughter, and my silent companion during those quiet nights when the world seemed too vast.

And then, unexpectedly, the curtain fell. His heart, that fragile vessel of dreams and memories, succumbed to enlargement—an unwelcome guest that stole him away. Each day since has felt like a cruel parody: I am Tom without Jerry, stumbling through a world that suddenly lacks its familiar rhythm.

I ache to rewrite our final moments—to whisper the words I never had the chance to say. "Goodbye," perhaps, or "Thank you." I wish I could have told him how fiercely proud I was of the person he became, despite my past mistakes—the petty squabbles, the missed opportunities for kindness. Regrets cling to me like shadows, and I yearn for forgiveness that can never be spoken.

, my dear brother, I miss you. I miss your laughter, your quirks, and the way you filled our shared space with light. Life moves forward, but the void you left remains—an ache that defies explanation. May you rest in peace, and may my love for you echo through the silent corridors of memory.

I am Tom without Jerry