Last year, my brother Asitha and I decided to get matching tattoos, a gesture I never anticipated, especially given how distant we were growing up. Our shared experience of grief brought us closer than I could have ever imagined.
Asi and I have always had different personalities. I was the loud, brash, and often angry older sibling, while he was the quiet, gentle homebody. Despite our differences, there are countless photos of us as young children standing side by side — united against the world.
We were born only three years apart, and I was three when he was born in Oman. Our parents, though always claiming to have no favorite, couldn’t have been more transparent in their affection for us. Asi was Mum’s favorite, and I was Dad’s. We each gravitated toward the parent we mirrored, and, over time, the gap between us grew.
By the time we moved to Perth, our relationship had become strained, and I spoke to him mainly to argue about trivial things — like who was using up the family’s monthly internet allowance.
Reconnecting as Adults
The tide began to turn as we entered adulthood. Our romantic partners played an unexpected role in bridging the gap between us. When I introduced my first boyfriend at 19, I saw a side of Asi that I hadn’t noticed before. The quiet, introverted brother I thought I knew revealed a sharp, quick-witted sense of humor that, as a comedian myself, I have to admit, is often funnier than mine.
When I met Asi’s girlfriend, Ruth, my initial skepticism quickly dissipated. I thought to myself, “She thinks he’s great? She must have terrible taste.” But as it turns out, she didn’t. Sometimes it takes someone outside the family to help us appreciate the qualities in each other that we tend to take for granted.
Their relationship, built on a foundation of deep respect and care, created a warm and safe environment not only for each other but for everyone around them. Their home in Perth became a sanctuary during the years when I was navigating my own tumultuous relationship.
When I moved to Melbourne at 30 to pursue my Master’s degree, I learned that maintaining a relationship with Asi required intentional effort — especially with the physical and emotional distance that came with living in different cities.
More bridges were built between us after the birth of my nephew and as my relationship with Charlie deepened. We began to make time for weekly phone calls and visiting each other in Perth whenever possible.
The Pandemic and A Father’s Illness
In 2020, when Western Australia closed its borders due to the pandemic, Asi and I found new ways to stay connected. He made a point to video call every Saturday so that my nephew could grow familiar with both of us. His frequent mention of the word “vacuum” during those calls was a quirky insight into his life at the time — he was obsessed with vacuums. But, on a deeper level, it was a reflection of how isolated Charlie and I were living in Victoria at the time, as we too felt like we were living in a vacuum.
In May 2022, after a long two years, I was finally able to visit Perth and embrace my family. But less than three months later, in August, the mood shifted drastically. My father was diagnosed with stage 4 cancer.
The news hit hard, especially given the fact that my parents had recently divorced. The situation was complicated, painful, and surreal as Asi and I struggled to navigate the new reality of two devastated parents and a terminally ill father. The doctors gave him two years to live, but he passed before Christmas.
Loss and the Tattoo Tribute
Watching a loved one deteriorate is a strange, painful experience. It’s a time when you wish it would end quickly, yet at the same time, you want to hold on to each moment. Despite the overwhelming grief, it was bearable because I wasn’t alone in it. Asi, my sibling, understood exactly what it felt like to lose pieces of our father in real-time.
During this time, Charlie and I spent weeks at Asi and Ruth’s home, more than we had ever spent together since childhood. It was a time of mourning, but also one of unexpected reconnection.
In the wake of our father’s death, Asi and I decided to get matching tattoos — a permanent tribute to him. It was a decision that felt like the culmination of years of growing, grieving, and finally understanding each other. Our bond, once fragile and strained, had transformed into something solid and enduring. The tattoos were a symbol of that journey, a marker of the shared love we both felt for a father we’d lost too soon.
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