The Invisible Sibling

For the first time in a long while, I felt a spark of hope. I’d stand in front of my bedroom mirror, practicing lines from morning talk shows or mimicking news anchors, imagining myself on TV. My name rolling across the screen.

I quickly told my parents about this idea, thinking they’d be proud that I’d finally found my strengths. But unexpectedly, when they heard I wanted to take the arts exam, they really laid into me. “You never study properly, always thinking about these crazy ideas. People either have connections or have been trained since childhood. How can someone from the sticks like you compete with them?” My parents shot down my idea again and again, leaving me speechless. Their words stung more than I expected. I felt the old familiar ache in my chest—the one that comes from hoping for something and having it snatched away. I bit my lip, fighting the urge to argue back.

Ryan sneered from the side, “Look at how country you are, and you want to study art? Dream on.”

He laughed, and I could feel the judgment in his voice. Sharp as broken glass. I wanted to shout back, but the words stuck in my throat.

That night, my mom came to my room alone to apologize. “Mom’s words were harsh today, but I’m thinking about the big picture. If you spend thousands to study art and succeed, that’s fine. But if you don’t do well, waste the money, and neglect your other subjects, wouldn’t it be a loss?” She awkwardly took my hand and patted it. “Besides, your brother is still in school, and art colleges are expensive. How can our family afford it? Autumn, I know you’re a good child. You need to think more for the family.”

She looked at me sincerely and earnestly. If I didn’t know my sister’s medical school tuition was tens of thousands a year, I might have believed my mom really thought the family was struggling. I couldn’t understand why they could pay thousands every year for my sister to go to Columbia, but wouldn’t pay for me to try for a future, even though the college entrance exam is a turning point in a person’s life.

Her hand was warm, but her words were cold.

I wondered if she even heard herself, or if she just didn’t care. The unfairness burned inside me, but I swallowed it down. I sat there, silent, wondering if she’d ever really see me.

Is it because I’m not outstanding enough, not worth betting on? Or because I’m not Melissa, nor Ryan? Because I didn’t grow up with them, I couldn’t be loved or valued by them? I lowered my head, not wanting to look at her, and replied, “Fine, I got it.” With a hint of defiance.

I hoped they could hear my reluctance, just like they always noticed my sister’s emotions right away. But she didn’t. When she heard my answer, it was as if she got the response she wanted. She patted my shoulder with satisfaction and left my room. Maybe she didn’t really want to comfort me, just wanted to get that answer so she could keep favoring them with a clear conscience. If I ever complained later, they’d say, “You gave up yourself. I didn’t force you. I treat all three of you the same.”

As the door clicked shut, I stared at the ceiling, feeling emptier than ever. It was like the final nail in the coffin of my hopes.

After that, I never expressed my needs or thoughts to my parents again. Because I knew in my heart, they’d never have my back.

I started to keep a journal, scribbling down my dreams and frustrations late at night. Sometimes I’d just stare at the page, not knowing what to write. It was the only place I could be honest, the only space where my voice mattered.

After the SATs, I barely got into a regular state college. The tuition was over $20,000 a year, and for this, my parents scolded me every day at home for not being ambitious. I couldn’t help but feel wronged. Why didn’t you scold Ryan when he wanted to go to a $40,000 summer camp? Is it because I’m not outstanding enough? Or because I’m Autumn, the one you don’t like?

Every time they compared me to my siblings, it was like a fresh bruise.

I’d clench my fists under the table, counting down the days until I could leave for good.

But luckily, I would soon be able to escape this suffocating home. On the day school started, I carried all my luggage to the train station by myself. Seeing parents and children crying as they parted on the platform, I couldn’t help but feel envious. Just like after the SATs, I also hoped that when I walked out of the exam hall, they would appear in front of me with flowers like other parents. But unfortunately, they didn’t then, and they didn’t now. It’s always been like this since I was little. I should have gotten used to it by now. At least from now on, I wouldn’t have to hear people criticize me in that condescending tone: “How come your sister and brother are so smart, and you can’t even get into college?” At least I wouldn’t be suffocated by Melissa and Ryan anymore.

The train platform was packed, the air thick with the scent of coffee and tears. I watched other families hug and promise to call every night. I hugged my own suitcase, holding back tears, determined not to look back.

College life wasn’t as colorful as I expected. Most people still lived their lives one step at a time. One of my roommates was a cute girl named Bailey. When she first met me, she grinned and said, “Wow, you’re so pretty! Can I do your makeup?”

Her energy was infectious, and for the first time in ages, I felt myself smile without forcing it. I hesitated, then nodded, letting her rummage through her rainbow-colored makeup bag. My heart fluttered with something like hope.

My first reaction was that this girl was too much, but then I felt a bit proud. It was the first time anyone had ever just straight-up called me pretty. Thinking back to childhood, sometimes kind-hearted adults at my parents’ dinner parties, unable to bear seeing me isolated, would joke, “Autumn is nice too, fair and pretty.” But my mom would dismissively interrupt, “What’s the use of being pretty if you have bad grades? She’ll never be as successful as her sister.” I remember the smile on that aunt’s face freezing right then. I couldn’t even defend myself.

Bailey’s compliment was so genuine, it made me blush. I realized then how starved I was for kindness.

It was just our first meeting, but Bailey could blurt out her praise for me. But my own parents had never praised me.

With Bailey, my college life became less dull. She loved makeup and had a small Instagram account with tens of thousands of followers. She would study the latest makeup trends with me, take me to new places, and take me places I’d never seen. I learned to dress up, to talk to strangers, to make friends on my own initiative. Sometimes I’d catch myself smiling for no reason, just because I felt like I was finally part of something.