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That emptiness that lies in the depths of the heart of being a second child is something barely spoken of.
Or maybe others didn't get affected by their birth position, but I did.
There were never proper listening ears, as the reason for my actions was always that I was stubborn, and it often ended with the quote "that is how second-borns behave."
This was a silent struggle, as I got neither support nor love from anyone I was related to.
My mom was always respectful, backing up her husband no matter the circumstances.
My dad had my elder sister, on whom I believe he poured out all the female love there was to give.
My brothers had each other; they stood up for one another even in cases where one of them was wrong, defending each other even in the worst-case scenario.
At this point you may be wondering why I did not make a pact with my elder sister.
I did.
But the relationship was accompanied by loads of problems. The split second my parents were against me, so was my sister. No sisterly backing up the way my brothers did.
This often shaded my heart; though I kept on growing a new one and finding a space for her, till I couldn't anymore.
Saturdays were my worst days, as we had to stock varieties of food in the fridge that would last for the week.
It often started with my mom heading to market as early as she could, and us tidying up the surroundings to keep her voice off our heads about how lazy we were.
We often helped prep the things while she did the cooking, looking forward to the meal once it was ready.
"Getting the dining table arranged before food was part of our duties,"
Our house was largely built, and each section had its designated use. We had the main parlour where visitors were received, the children's parlour which got less attention on how arranged it was, our chapel where we gathered for morning prayers, our dining room for eating our meals as a family, and so on.
On the dining table I had my favourite chair, my spot. We all did.
On this set of six dining chairs, my dad sat on the single chair, my mom directly beside him to the left; my last-born sibling, who was still being fed, was next to her. On my dad's right was my immediate junior brother and my sister. I was always on the single chair directly opposite my dad.
I loved my spot because it made me close to my sister while being away at the same time, and I wasn't close to the rest of my family. It was like my personal space and comfort during mealtime.
On one occasion, after a stressful day, as the time approached to dine, my immediate junior brother took my spot. I was served food last, as I was a bit indecisive about what I really wanted to eat.
At first, I signaled him with my eyes to get up so it wouldn't attract attention, but he smiled like it wasn't a serious issue.
When it was time to eat, I got closer to him and asked him to get up and assume his normal position, but he refused.
I kept on insisting and urging him to stand up before it resulted in a quarrel, but he kept on eating like everything was alright.
At this point, my parents' heads began to turn toward our direction, asking questions to find out what exactly was going on.
I replied almost instantly, "He doesn't want to get up from my chair."
"She can sit somewhere else," he clapped back too.
At first, my parents urged him to stand up, but they later changed their minds, as my sister, like always, was in support of me sitting on the empty chair left. Her opinion overruled theirs, and it became a serious banter.
"Oh, why can't you sit somewhere else? Were you born with that chair? Did you keep something on it meant for you? Or did you join a secret cult that says you only need to sit there?"
The abuses and shouting kept going, and my stubborn self, on the other hand, wasn't buying it and insisted he needed to stand up, which he also refused to do.
I got so angry that I trashed my food and spent the night hungry, without regrets.
I got so angry that I trashed my food and spent the night hungry, without regrets.
No one came around to check on me, to ask if I was alright. Not that I was expecting it, but I hoped it happened. They held on to how they felt about the case and ensured I felt whatsoever way I was feeling.
I felt the judgment was unfair, as no one had ever taken anyone's spot, and a similar case did occur with my elder sister, where my junior brother stood up without a fight.
Now, reminiscing on the past, I really can't place the reason I loved that spot so much asides not wanting to seat so close to anyone, but comparing it with the future,
I don't think I was fully running away from my family.
Because in school I hate sitting in the midst of people; I'd rather be at the edge. Sitting between them made it harder to breathe, meaning I was just claustrophobic rather than stubborn.
But we often omit our listening ears from the children we deem stubborn, because we feel they just want to ruin our day.
