Martí.

Martí is my biggest brother and on Sunday he’s going to be 35 years old. We had the same mother, who a few years after, knew my father and then, I was born.

There are 18 years between us, so sometimes he’s like a father for me; he has always looked after me and now he brings me to parties and I sleep at his house. My mother always tells me a story of Martí and me. She says:

“Your father and I had a dinner in a friends’ house. Ferran wasn’t at home, so Martí and you stayed alone. He said everything would be OK, so we left you calmly. When we arrived we found Martí trying to put on your nappy and you shouting: “No, Martí, you aren’t right, it goes the other way round!” The poor Martí didn’t know how to do it and you had dirtied your nappy. It was such a funny scene!”

Martí doesn’t have a lot of hair, but it’s black and curly. He never brushes it; he only applies some hair gel. Years ago, he had afro hair and I usually laugh at that, because I’m not used to see him with long hair.

He has dark skin at every time of the year, so imagine when we are in summer! He gets a suntan with only a week going to the beach. He often says to me that he doesn’t like being so dark skinned because he thinks he looks like a gypsy, but I cheer him up saying that I’d like to be as dark skinned as he’s.

We love each other and I think we have a good relationship. He’s always phoning me and advising me to go out together. We usually go to have dinner and to drink something in a bar; we go snowboarding and to some concerts... I never say how I love him, but I think it’s not necessary because I’m sure he knows it.