The Beginning

Lily was a middle child.

She was a sister to Philip, a 25-year old shut-in, who loved the corners of his room more than the corners of the world. A smarty pants who went haywire. A regret. A child his parents will always be sorry to.

She was also a sister to Juliet, a 10-year-old sickly child, who wanted the world, but was forced to stay inside a four-cornered-room with white walls and beeping machines.

Lily was born to parents who were both entrepreneurs. Parents who has too little time for their kids but enough time for Philip and Juliet. Parents who were often out of the house, but somehow manages to spend time with her siblings, but her. Parents whose words were always, "you understand right?" Or "thank you for understanding, Lil."

Lil. One word that signalled affection. An endearment that melted her heart everytime she heard it. One word that instantly washed away any resentment, any jealousy, and any disappointment.

Lil. One word. One word that broke her heart, but also the one word that healed it.

Lil. Such a cruel word meant to take away and never give.

Lil. A three letter word that shackled her feet from the world.

But who is Lily? Who is Lily aside from being a daughter and a sister?

"Who am I?" She whispered with a deep sigh.

Her pen centimeters away from her notebook, she tilted her chair, balancing herself with its two back feet, closed her eyes as if trying to envision her persona, the image of who she was.

She was always someone's daughter, someone's sister, someone's whoever, but never hers. She was never her own person.

She was always hungry, always craving, always wanting. For what? For some love. For some affection. For some time.

Coming up empty, she sat straight, scratched her head, took a deep sigh, and started writing again.

She was... sad. Always grieving. Always with a void within her that nothing can fill for a long time. Maybe for a moment. Maybe for a while. But not always. Never always.

She was lonely. She was seldom alone, but always lonely. Even in a crowd, still lonely. She would always long for that something... A something that even she doesn't have any idea of.

A something...

Maybe a toy. An ice cream. A TV show. A new notebook. A trip to the park. A moment.

Maybe a something that kids used to be so happy about. A new dress. New shoes. A new ponytail. Things she always had, but never brought her joy. Things delivered in a box, but never by warm hands.

Things that were left behind, but never given warmly wrapped in someone's hands. Never her mother's hands. Never her father's hands. Never.

She was hopeful. She persevered. She excelled. Hoping that one day her mother would notice. Hoping that one day her father would approve. But nothing. Always nothing. Always "sorry", always "thank you". It was always like that.

All she needed was for them to be present, for them to be there when she searched the crowd while she received an award, while she delivered a speech, or while she participated in a debate.

She did not even expect them to clap for her. She just want them to see her, be with her, and share the moment of her having received a recognition for her hard work and have reached a milestone in her life...

That was all she asked. For them to be present for her.

But she understood. She understood why things worked the way it did.

She was the normal one, so she should adjust and be understanding of their current set-up.

She understood, but she could not stop asking the why's. And as she aged, she settled to her own explanation of the why's.

It was probably because..

She was smart enough.

She was healthy enough.

She was understanding enough.

She was always "more than" her siblings.

She was more mentally stable.

She was more healthy.

She was more this and that.

She was more.

But they never knew being more than them was never enough for her. But she hoped they knew. She thought, maybe, just maybe, they knew about it.. but she could not bear to entertain the idea that they chose to turn a blind eye.. to look the other way.

She hoped not.

Because that would hurt her more than ever.

It would be like getting stabbed multiple times, but waiting for her to bleed out before giving the final blow.

Will they ever care?

But...

She does not want to be selfish.

She knew her siblings needed her parents more than her.

She always avoided being jealous.

Because she saw how her parents suffered. She saw how it was with her siblings. Because she was there. She also witnessed it all.

That's why, regardless of what she felt, she does not feel the need to let them know she had enough.

For her, it felt like compared to her siblings, what she was feeling was trivial.. insignificant.

It could never compare to what her siblings were feeling, or what they went through.

It could never compare spending weeks in the hospital.

It could never compare going to sessions over sessions of therapy.

It could never compare to being holed up in a hospital room.

It could never compare to losing your mind even without you wanting to.

She saw her parents' tears.

And she does not want them to cry over her.

She does not want to see them cry because of her.