I'm 13 and you're 16
Just a few weeks ago, we got the news that your basketball team would play in a big state tournament. I thought for sure you'd be part of it, since you had spent two whole years dreaming of this moment and practicing hard every single morning and night. But then, out of nowhere, you told me your plans had changed. You decided to come with me to Mysore for our spelling bee competition instead. I couldn't help but wonder why.
Later, I overheard Dad talking about it, and before I knew it, we were on the train to Mysore. We spent the night playing Uno and got there in the morning. Over a hot cup of tomato soup on the train, you confided in me that you were really determined to do your best on this test. You literally chose it over your big basketball game. You weren't fully present, but you were completely focused on winning. For you, it mattered most because it mattered to Mom and Dad. When you went up on stage to get the 1st place prize, I saw that happiness come back to your smile. You just looked so happy and excited. Mom and Dad couldn't stop clapping, and your smile widened as you saw them smile warmly at you.
I'm 16 and you're 19
It was the day when the big board exam results came out. Mom and Dad were glued to the old computer screen, staring at it. You were sitting there, probably wondering why they cared more about your results than you did. Or maybe you just didn't care as much? I noticed you were getting really anxious and nervous, but I felt strangely calm. My results were already done, but you were the one in the hot seat now. In these moments, you looked really, really nervous.
You've always been there for everyone else. You studied super hard so Dad could brag to our uncles about how well you did. It didn't really matter if he bragged or not - what mattered was that you did what Dad wanted, and you did it without any resentment or anger, just because you genuinely love him.
As I thought about all this, suddenly the screen changed, and your results loaded. Mom and Dad leaned in close while I tiptoed over to try and see. But I couldn't read the numbers. Instead, I saw you. I saw this warm smile spread across your face - a smile that just said you were truly happy. Happy for yourself, but even more so, happy for making Mom and Dad proud.
I reminded you about that promise you made to God at the temple last week - that if you topped your entire batch, you'd give him 26kgs of sweets. You looked at me right in the eyes and said, "Let's pretend you didn't hear that."
I'm 19 and you're 22
Every single weekend, you made an effort to spend time with me. When I felt homesick at my hostel, you came to visit me there. To me, you were my best friend, but to you, I was almost like your own kid. You spent your weekdays working at the office, but on weekends, you left all that behind, and we hung out. We talked about the new cafes we should try together. We went to our favorite pasta place, and you treated me using the money you had saved. You mentioned wanting to go on a trip, but then you realized it wouldn't work with your job right now.
You remembered how badly you wanted to go on a trip with friends back in college, but exams were coming up, and you didn't want to break your perfect streak of always doing amazing at everything - just like how I saw you, how Mom and Dad saw you, how everyone knew you. Suddenly, you realized you were getting too serious, and I tried to get you to open up more, but as usual, you didn't. Instead, you switched the conversation back to the pasta, which had gotten a little cold and didn't taste as good anymore. I didn't say anything about it, but you could tell, so we decided to leave.
As we headed home in the auto, you told me about the city you lived in. My mind started wandering, wishing you weren't here with me but were actually on that trip you had missed out on instead. I wondered if it was the missed trip that made me feel sad. Or if it was because it hit me that you had never done something entirely for yourself - not today, not yesterday, and not up until now that secretly made me want to cry.
I'm 23 and you're 26
I've found myself in the same city where you used to live, Didi, and things aren't going too well here for me. Every time I walk back from work, I wonder how fun it would have been if I could just come and sleep in your apartment. We would watch silly little YouTube videos, and you'd make sure I knew everything would be fine.
You send me photos on WhatsApp, showing me that you went on a fun solo date. A month later, you tell me you're going on a hiking trip with friends to some beaches. I ask you to send me tons of pictures, and you're happy to oblige. I see photos of you stacking little rocks, on top of each other. Your laughter in the video is so genuine, it doesn’t carry a single hint of weight. It just is.
The next day, you're busy with assignments, but you seem to handle them just fine. In fact, besides your college work and a part-time job, I hear you've joined a new dance workshop too. My heart is so happy for you because I know how much you’ve loved dancing and how long you’ve waited to pursue it. You're suddenly an amazing dancer, picking up new choreography with ease. There's no one cooler than you in my eyes right now. You've even found time to start going to the gym? Who even are you?
While Mom and Dad continue to be so proud of you as usual, it's the imperfections you've begun to reveal that truly resonate with me. It's a relief to know that you're embracing your authentic self, even if it means deviating from the expectations placed upon you.
You've moved away from the city, out of the country even. But your smile doesn't give me that bittersweet feeling anymore. Instead, it fills me with pure joy.
It's weird, you know. I miss you dearly, but I don't miss you so much that I want you to come back here too. Though the distance between us hurts me a little every day, it also brings me peace. Now that you're far away, your happiness and independence bring me a strange sense of comfort. The distance of oceans between us reminds me of your growth. From being the sweet, perfect child I once knew to the confident, independent woman you've become. Your journey, though seemingly ordinary at first glance, is the only reason I hold onto trying.
thank you for reading this essay!! ironically online is a place for myself and those around me to find solidarity in experiences that may seem unique but are, in fact, shared by many. you’re not alone!
if you enjoyed this read, i'd love to hear why <3
This piece spoke to me on such a deep personal level. The Eldest Daughter syndrome is real and I used to be a fellow passenger with your Didi on the conformism train. I am glad we are both stepping off it now. Nothing brings me more joy than women finding and being who they are - unabashedly, unapologetically. ❤️
Wow ! It just felt soऊ relatable ! So glad that I stumbled upon your blog here! Best wishes !