My name is Bang Yongnam and I am a murderer. The crime was committed on March 31^st, 2008 when I took my first drink. It was what everyone would call the “perfect crime.” Everything happened slowly, and there seems to be multiple accomplices and even a motive for me. But I, and only I, know the truth. The crime lasted for five years before someone finally died. And that person should have been me.

            Yongguk and I grew up with everything being shared. We shared clothes, we shared toys, and we even shared the same face. As we got older, we realized we shared the same interests, the same love for music. What we didn’t share was our habits. Yongguk was an occasional drinker. He would drink at social events and when he had friends over. I was an alcoholic.

            The day we turned eighteen, we went out to a bar with our friends, and from there, I was in love. I fell in love with the hard fiery trail that blazed down my throat, the burning sensation in the pit of my stomach. I loved the passion, the red, that liquor brought me and like with any beautiful woman, I couldn’t keep away.

            The stronger the alcohol content the better it was for me. I loved the precarious balance between absolute clarity and muddle that allowed me to escape reality for a good moment of time. I craved the dizziness that often came with hangovers and the feeling of having no responsibility for my actions. I was born for the wild life, or so I thought.

            As time went by, the rush of fire was dulled. It became a path beaten down, trodden ten times too many. It no longer brought a thrill; I could no longer control the taste. My mouth was already burned and all the awareness it had brought me became desensitized. Alcohol became water, a necessity for life, my life.

            Yongguk tried to get me to stop. He threatened to disown me, but who was he to do it? He threatened to keep me out of the band, but by then music meant nothing. It no longer made my skin crawl, my heart race. The only thing that made me move at all was alcohol, and all it did was make my hands shake with a craving so strong I knew if I quit, I would die of withdrawal.

            He yelled at me every time he saw me huddled on the steps. He grew angry, and then he would take me in and clean me up. Because he was a good person, and that was what good people do. He mopped up my messes, brought me the medication I needed, and even through his furious words, I could hear the traces of tears, the raw human emotion that had left me.

            With every sip, I lost part of my humanity. With every step down the road of alcoholism, I lost everyone who I thought I would never lose. They left me, or I pushed them away. I lost my parents when I left the house. I lost my sister when I didn’t attend her wedding, and I lost the love of my life when I never showed up. The only person I didn’t lose then was Yongguk, my twin brother, the one younger by those precious five minutes. And now I’ve lost him too.

            The five minutes that made me the older one. Even though we were technically the same age, it was those five minutes that made me aware that I had someone to protect. We looked out for each other, but I would jokingly refer to myself as the hyung. And I thought that would be a role I would be able to cherish forever.

            Is a mother still a mother when she has lost her only child? Is a twin still a twin if the other half of him is gone? Am I still a hyung when there is no longer a little me looking up to see what I was doing?

            Yongguk couldn’t speak until five, and for those five years, I was his translator. I helped him navigate. We saw each other’s worlds at the same viewpoint, in the same light. When he was hurt, I felt the sting, when I fell, his knees bruised. So what happened?

            I happened. My sickness happened and after that, nothing was the same. I was no longer the older one. Yongguk had to baby me. He took care of me, scolded me, and when nobody did, he loved me. And I let him down.

            He sent me to rehab, and I was good for a few months until I came back into the underground scene and was swept away again by the torrent. When I relapsed, everyone left me again but he was still there. He had his disapproving look, but also the gentle hand that wiped the vomit from my mouth.

            I never should have driven that day. I don’t know what made me get behind the wheel. I don’t know why I thought it was okay to put a life at risk, except at the time, the only life that was put precariously on the line was mine. And so that was fine with me.

            The accident isn’t what killed him. When he donated the kidney, we never expected him to go into cardiac arrest. It was supposed to be a simple procedure, but we didn’t realize he has been having heart problems for a while. Everyone blamed the doctors for not doing a proper checkup. But I don’t blame them. They didn’t kill Yongguk. What killed him was being stuck with me as a brother.

            In this picture, we were simple. We were going to go find ants and a cave or two, find an adventure. The world was large, and our possibilities endless. We could conquer the world, just the two of us. We were leading each other together.        

            But now, Yongguk is gone, and even though he wouldn’t want me to blame myself, I do. I’m up here to apologize to everyone who has gathered here. I’m sorry I was the reason why we lost an angel. And Yongguk, if you’re watching and I think you are, I’ll live a life for the two of us now.

            This is Bang Yongnam, Yongguk’s other half, and my brother’s keeper.

this is for nfarahain

I hope you guys enjoy this. I know I cried when I'm writing it. It's one of my better ones in a while.