I always felt deeply insecure around my younger brother.

He would point at my cracked fingers and shout, “You country folk, do you even know what McDonald's is? What about Pizza Hut? You smell like cows.”

He’d embarrass me in public, leaving me feeling ashamed and flustered.

He could throw a tantrum over a speck of mud on his shoes and crawl into our parents’ arms.

I’d stand by, too scared to even ask for a hug.

Later, our parents bought a three-bedroom apartment.

One for them, one for my brother, and one as a guest room—while I still lived in the countryside.

During summer vacation, they’d graciously invite me...