Left Behind in the Countryside

Their laughter always felt like it was aimed right at me. For a second, I’d just freeze inside. I’d fake a smile, pretending it didn’t sting, but later, hiding out in the bathroom, I’d stare at my reflection and wonder if maybe they were right.

I don’t even remember how I faced and endured the ridicule and contempt from those around me back then. Everyone asked, why are your sister and brother so amazing, while you even struggle to get into high school? My parents were no different. They thought they weren’t biased based on their children’s achievements. But Dad would secretly take my sister shopping for clothes. Mom would skip my parent-teacher conference to go to my brother’s, even when they were at the same time. Even relatives and friends naturally ignored me, the second child. Sometimes I’d just sit on my bed, heart pounding, wishing someone would notice me for once.

I learned early how to shrink myself, to make myself invisible at family gatherings. I’d busy myself with clearing plates or refilling drinks, anything to avoid the questions and comparisons. Sometimes I’d catch my mom’s eye, hoping for a smile, but she’d look right past me. It stung, every single time.

At family gatherings, I would sit in the farthest corner, listening to them talk about how smart and responsible my sister was, and my brother’s intelligence and good looks. I was always the child my parents least wanted to talk about. The one they were most ashamed to mention.

The living room would fill with voices and laughter, stories about Melissa’s awards and Ryan’s competitions, while I’d quietly nibble at a cookie, invisible. Even the family dog seemed to get more attention than I did.

In my second year of high school, my sister brought her boyfriend home. Her boyfriend, Eric, had prepared a birthday card with cash for everyone in the family. But when he saw me, he was surprised. He whispered to Melissa, “Wait, you have another sister? Why didn’t you tell me? I didn’t bring a card for her.”

I felt the heat rush to my cheeks, and for a second, I wished I could vanish into the wallpaper. My stomach dropped. I tried to play it cool, but my hands trembled as I tucked them under the table.

Even though he spoke softly, I still heard him. My mom heard too. She quickly came out to reassure Eric, “Oh, it’s fine, it’s fine, Eric, it’s the thought that counts.” My mom didn’t say a word to me, didn’t even look at me. She just skipped over me and took the others to the dining room. Ryan, who got a card, happily put his arm around Eric’s neck, calling him bro-in-law over and over. They laughed as they left. My dad saw me sitting alone and casually said, “Your sister didn’t do it on purpose. Why are you sulking again? Who are you putting on a show for?”

That sentence hit me like a punch in the gut.

Leaving me frozen in place.

The room spun for a second. I felt like I’d swallowed a stone. I forced myself to blink back tears, not wanting to give them the satisfaction of seeing me cry. But inside, I was crumbling.

My grades were bad, and that didn’t change in high school. Even though I was already studying very hard, never wasting a second in class, doing extra practice after homework, it didn’t help. People in class joked that I was a bookworm who only knew how to bury her head in books. But even so—what was the use?

I was still in the bottom ten or so in the class, and every time there was a joint exam, I couldn’t even reach the passing line for regular colleges.

Every night, I’d fall asleep with textbooks open on my chest, formulas and vocabulary words swimming in my mind. I’d wake up before dawn, highlighter in hand, hoping today would be different. But the results never changed. I’d stare at the ceiling, fighting the urge to give up.

At that time, our English teacher liked me a lot. She pointed out a path for me: apply for the performing arts track. To be honest, I did look pretty good, having perfectly inherited my parents’ good looks. Because I liked to imitate people on TV when I was little, I was also articulate. So the performing arts path seemed very suitable for me. The drama teacher at our school encouraged me to try for broadcasting and acting. I’d practice in front of the mirror, imitating talk show hosts, dreaming of something bigger.