Cutie, Cheesy Problems

Dear Diary,

My name is Brie Cheese, and I have a problem.

No, no, that's not right.  I'm sorry, sometimes I don't quite get my thoughts down correctly.

I've never kept a personal journal before until now, yet, ironically, I've had you for years.  Heck, even the light scent of various cheeses still stick to the pages, yet at the same time, there really isn't any cheese on the pages to begin with: I've simply been around too much cheese and was too concerned with other things at the time to write anything in you.  I still remember the day that Cheese Sandwich gave you to me as a birthday present.  Who knew that I would wait this long to finally sit down and write?  Maybe I should have actually sat down and wrote about that day: telling yourself that you can remember things isn't exactly a good habit to adopt.

Is there even a proper way to write in a journal?  Now that I put my hoof on it, I sincerely doubt it.

I remember keeping a scrapbook when I was a filly, but that was when I still had friends: no, I don't think I'm going to do that again anytime soon, but that's another story for another time.

To be honest, I really just want to focus this entry on Cheese Sandwich: my brother.  Yes, I said my brother, and no, neither of us were adopted: the fact that we look the same has to do with the blood that runs through our veins.  However, only Cheese Sandwich got the green eyes: I was only lucky enough to get the honey streak in my mane.  I could care less what other ponies think about it (since I've obtained a few jabs here and there on the account that it's a small resemblance to Her Majesty Princess Twilight), but I still like my streaks nonetheless, despite only showing on my left side.

Another confession that I believe that it's time to make is that I still have uncertain feelings about my brother.  Do not misunderstand: I love my brother very much, and I'm happy about his success, but there are just some things that bother me, and some regrets I carry as his elder sister.

It hurts time and time again, and I'm not sure if Cheese Sandwich had ever told anypony, but I helped him escape from Manehattan.  The details about our mother and father are for a later entry, but the point right now is that if I didn't help him escape, he wouldn't have become the super-duper party-pony I had a feeling from the very beginning that I just knew he would be.  It didn't matter if he was awfully shy: he and I had our parties together (or acted like we were) when we were little fillies.  The only reason why our parents never suspected his leave involving me had to do with the fact that I was out during his escape.  I only regret that our friendship as brother and sister was so unsteady when he left.

I don't care if he made a promise to me: I'm two years older than him, and sometimes I question my maturity level just because I agreed to help my little brother get away.

Yes everypony: I have my regrets.

I wasn't even thinking about the idea of losing my brother so soon: it was supposed to have been another day at Manehattan.  I was old enough to finally begin running errands for my parents while they were busy doing other things.  Funny, I took that day for granted before I saw my brother with red, white-spotted cloth tied onto his small back.  I demanded to know what he was doing and what the hay was the big deal with his small pack.  When it reached my ears from his own lips that he was running away, I wanted to know why.

I knew fillies were crazy about getting their cutie marks, but nowhere near as crazy as my brother.  Sure, it wasn't the only reason why he ran off, but the reason that shocked me the most was his discomfort at home.  Given how mom and dad were acting, it was too much for him, even with what little support I could give him at the time.  I begged for him to stay in Manehattan, at least until I was old enough to move out, but he downright refused: never before had I seen my little brother so determined.

One reason after another, I tried to get him to see that it would be safer, and happier, if he stayed a while longer, but exactly where he got his logic that even won me over still remains anonymous to this day.

If he was leaving on his own, what was my contribution to the whole affair?  Well, remember when I said that I was shopping?  Every gold bit that I had in my pocket at the time, even the few bits that I had saved to get my brother and myself something nice was all poured into my brother's pack.  Even until today, I'm not sure why I had agreed to do it, but its almost as if I didn't have a choice in the matter.

Yes, I gave him the money.  Yes, I saw him off, and yes, I even made a tragic cover story how some thugs got a hold of every bit that I had while shopping around town.  Heck, for the first time that I could remember, I lied to the face of my parents about how I didn't see Cheese Sandwich that day.  The pain of lying to my parents physically and psychologically wounded me, but like I said: it's not like I had a choice in the matter.

That was the first time I ever prayed to Celestia for being a foolish mare.  Why did I do it, even though it was painfully obvious that he was so small and I should have ran away with him?  To be honest, I didn't know, and for the record, I still don't know.  The only thing that I did know was the fact that I felt like I wasn't thinking, and I told myself that I wouldn't make the same mistake again.

I don't care if other ponies think that I over-think things too much: they don't understand the logic of my madness, and to be honest, I don't expect them to: because I was unable to help Cheese Sandwich smile all the time on my own, I wouldn't be surprised if he felt compelled to leave to find his own smiles.  Everyone knows now that everything turned out just fine.  However, what they don't know is the fact that he is still my brother, and our friendship (if we even have that) is physically, psychologically, and all-dimensionally broken.

There's two reasons why I felt like I had to say something about all of this: one, today is Cheese Sandwich's birthday, and since I can't be there with him right now, I feel this moral guilt that has haunted once a year every year since he ran off.  Second, for the first time in a long time, I had received any invitation from my baby brother himself to come down to Ponyville for a reason that he wouldn't say over a letter.  Exactly why he wouldn't say what it was, I'm not sure, but if this is an element of surprise, it's not helping: he's well aware that by the time I come down there, his birthday would have long since past.

I want to confront him, but what in all of Equestria should I say to him?  Yell at him?  Tell him how much I've missed him over the years?  Should I confess how I had longed for a childhood with my little brother that I never had?  More importantly, how come he isn't mad at me?  Does he know in his gut that I'm still mixed about all of this?

No, maybe I should go see him: that would solve one of my problems, and one of the aching pains in my heart.

Sincerely, and with many thanks,

Brie Cheese of Manehattan