I pity my brother Ferdinand, knowing by my own feelings how sad a thing it is to live apart from one's family.
Sentiment: NEGATIVE
I didn't know how many people knew who Ferdinand was.
A brother who is unhappy is a dangerous relative to have.
It was less in pity than in anger that the world was moved by the photograph of little Alan Kurdi, that dead three-year-old Syrian refugee boy whose name we're all remembering now on the first anniversary of his drowning, along with his five-year-old brother Galip and their mother Rehanna.
I have a brother-in-law who lives in Spain.
My family were very poor. I am one of nine siblings: two girls and seven boys. Only my brother and I play in Europe, and then three more work in Europe, and another plays in Tunisia. This family is a footballing family, but our lives have not always been good.
I never really had to deal with a death in the family, let alone my brother.
My granddad always said he wanted to make me an England player. As soon as I went on to that pitch against Portugal, I knew he could die a happy man because he'd achieved his aim in life.
When I moved to London at age 16, tired of the shuffle around other people's houses and ready to live on my own, I met my English brother and sister, who instantly claimed me as family.
Sometimes it makes me sad that I didn't get to have one family for my entire life.
When I go out there, I have no pity on my brother. I'm out there to win.