I had never seen my brother cry.  Well, not until recently. Of course, I’m not counting the times he did when we were little, but even then, it barely happened.  When it did happen, it was awkward. You know those times when your friend is crying and you just sit there like, “Uh... it’s okay, don’t cry.”, and awkwardly pat them on the back?  Well yeah, that was me all the times my brother cried. Hey, the little sister had to save the day somehow! Wait, did I just say all? Oops, I’m exaggerating a little bit. Out of my 15 years of living, I’m pretty sure I’ve only seen it twice, three times max.  But, about four months ago, it all changed. I saw my brother cry.

My brother is in college now; he’s a sophomore, like me.  He doesn’t go to school too far away from where we live, so he comes home on the weekends if he has time.  If not, we visit him. On one cool, November afternoon, my mom, brother, and I were sitting around at home, watching TV.  No one had said anything for quite some time. This was unusual for us; my house is usually alive, happy. But, all you could hear was the soft hum of the thermostat, the basketball commentators’ screeches.  You know moms. Overprotective, nosy. So, you can imagine what comes next. Having gone crazy after not speaking for at least five minutes, my mom had to catch up with my brother’s college gossip.

“Kuya (“older brother” in Filipino),” my mom said, “how are your classes going?”  “Good.” Kuya answered shortly, and returned his focus to the NBA game. “Is something wrong, anako (my child)?”.  “No.”. Another short response.  I saw something was up. I could feel it in the air.  I saw Marcus’ face change; a change from something emotionless, to a slight scrunch in the nose.  His face changed again. This time, I didn’t see his scrunched nose. I didn’t even see his face. Instead, I saw hands.  Hands, covering the face of the boy who looks just like me. My brother’s face was buried in his palms, I heard muffled sniffles behind what he hoped was his mask.  My brother was crying.

Blah, blah, blah.  “Nothing is wrong with my grades....”, “I like my school…”, “I’m fine…”, and more blah.  There was a long speech about what was going on, but to sum it up, college is stressful. That’s all.  I comforted him. I wrapped my arms around him, and I told him everything would be okay.

What I would like to share is this: it is okay for males to express emotion.  In our society today, men are shot down for showing what they feel. They’re told to “stop being weak”, or to “man up”.  The saying of “man-tears” is commonly used to describe the emotions men feel when affected by something, whether it be positively or negatively.  In my eyes, they’re just tears. Whether they be tears of joy or tears of pain, we all have them. Men should feel welcomed in an environment where their opinions are accepted, where they can feel free from social norms.  They should be able to talk about their feelings, without being judged be the ignorance of the common standard. So, I encourage all the males reading this to do this: cry. Cry real hard. Or, tell someone something you’ve always wanted to tell them.  Get it all out. Trust me, you’ll feel so much better afterwards. Like my brother, I want you to see that it’s okay to cry. The situation you are in is not permanent. Life is not perfect, and it’s okay. But remember, so are you. You’re okay.