I’m a middle
child. With one older sister and brother and one younger brother and sister. And
with this number of children, you would always seem certain that this would
lead to one thing, CHAOS. In our toddler years, there is not a single day that
we fail to fight, tease and pissed each other off. And being the middle child I
always had this concept of “Middle child Syndrome” where I find myself in the
middle line, torn between “too young” for my older siblings to argue with and
“too old” for my younger siblings to pick a fight with. And for years I have
learned to plant hatred against them and it just grew and grew overtime. Me and
my older siblings were never placed at the same school, from elementary up to
college, my parents were frequently asked by our neighbors why it is so, and
they would say that it’s because we have different interests and it’s our right
to choose whatever school we like to enter to as long as we study well. But I
know it’s more than that, we were never comfortable around each other, and we
can’t even look eye to eye. It’s like we were complete strangers to each other
living under the same roof. It’s funny how I can’t even remember them ever
included in my childhood memories. Do I hate them so much, my brain deleted their
images?
My mother left
to work abroad when I was 5, without us (siblings) knowing, all that I can
remember was a note held by our oldest sister who was at that time 9 who won’t
stop crying as she was reading silently the goodbye our mother left in that
note for us, leaving my father to take care of us. Unlike them, that incident didn’t bother me, I
grew up not needing or seeking a motherly love, all I need at that time was the
money and luxury she can give me. I live
in the moment, with vices from alcohol, cigarettes, drugs, gambling and all
sorts of things that my parent didn’t knew about. I was a menace. All because I had that empty hole that can't
be filled. Was it because my parents didn’t love me enough? That was me then, a
black sheep lost but then was found. Then again, that’s another story to tell.
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