It’s 3:41 AM as I write. My grandmother woke me up a few minutes ago to help her clean up the mess my brother and his friends left after drinking. All of our tableware were in the sink. Their vices were scattered all over the floor outside where they set up their table–cigarette butts, bottles of beer and brandy, playing cards–aside from packs of junk food, mango peelings, candy wrappers, chicken bones and whatnot.
This was the first time my brother officially brought his friends over for merry-making. There was one time, though, but didn’t ask permission from anyone. But usually, they’d have it at one of his friends’ house. I tried to be cool. Because it was his girlfriend’s birthday and he wanted to do something for her, I tried to understand him and even defended him from people who didn’t like the idea (i.e., my grandmother). I thought he’s learned his lesson. I thought he’d be more responsible this time. But in the end, our grandmother was right. We shouldn’t have let him. Plus, he’s so drunk again. I should’ve been the one who’s learned her lesson. =|