may you be heard, seen, and loved on the table that you always sits in

Every piece of family got a lot of aches to tell.

There are a lot of terms circulating in our generation today that we stripped out of our hearts. The pain of eldest daughter, the middle child, and the youngest of family.

the eldest daughter

They were forced to take the baggage of their parents’ responsibilities. The independent, brave and smart daughter that they never have to worry about as her mother muzzled her mouth and slit her tongue. She covered her siblings’ ears when their parents’ raging voices echoed around the house. She embraced her siblings and nourished them with devotion and tenderness, despite having endless arguments.

But now let’s talk about her pain. The independent daughter that they called is just a kid who’s living in adult life; her inner child is screaming out of rage and grief. She took the responsibilities that her parents can’t fulfill and crossed out her boundaries. She is lonely and scared, that’s the pain that she hides between her name. The water is running loudly in the sink as she cried and bled of anger.

Mother, Father, your eldest child is now tired to carry the responsibilities that you threw on her.

middle child the glass child

The broken glass of the family. She tried to get out of the glass to get the attention of her parents but as she pulled out the lid, the glass broke. The broken pieces of her were thrown out of the sea. She tried to be funny, she tried to be more smart, she obeyed them, yet she was independent, unseen, unheard, and a shadow. As she screamed for attention, she was told to be quiet. Her scattered glass are now bleeding in her wounded heart.

Mother, Father, if she’s sick, will you get her some blanket and a cup of milk?

the black sheep

The rebellion of names of black sheep. Exhausted from pleasing and begging their parents’ eyes of attention, they put a black cloth to cover their fragility. They rebelled as their parents put a wall between them. They stare with cold and bruised eyes, and cried in their room as they took off the clothes of being a black sheep. They just wanted to be understood, heard, and seen.

Mother, Father, will you now open the sheep who’s dying for milk?

the youngest who carried the leftovers of trauma

“When you’re young, they assume you know nothing”

Their words were always seen as funny jokes and childish mouths. The uplifting expectations that were passed on them drove them to be good at everything. They were always told to be great not just good to meet their elders’ expectations. The reason? Because their siblings’ did great to walk on the bridge of expectations, nevertheless they walked with bare foot in the needles of achievements.

While their siblings’ got themselves a house, the youngest walk down on the silence chirping in their so-called home.

Mother, Father, can you pamper her with tenderness and ease your expectations?

We are all independent with our own wings, yet I wish we were never forced to be. May it be the oldest, the middle child, the black sheep or the youngest, your pain is always valid for you to weep it. May we heal from the wounds as our home collapsed in our own hands.

May you be heard, seen, and loved.