Maybe I was adopted.
Maybe I was adopted.
I remember thinking that when I was very young.
Maybe I was adopted.
It made sense to me.
Why else would my parents treat me differently from my brothers?
I wasn't adopted.
I checked.
I investigated.
I belonged to the family.
I just didn't always feel like I did.
Somewhere along the way, the roles changed.
I remember when it happened.
My parents had to borrow money from my birthday gifts.
My parents leaned on me.
I didn't lean on them.
I learnt to manage.
To take responsibility.
To deal with things.
To be the one who could handle it.
I became an outsider inside my own family.
Part of it was because I was a girl.
But I wasn't exactly the kind of girl who made things easy.
I was determined.
Stubborn.
I asked questions.
I had opinions.
When things got hard, I wasn't the first to give up.
And I wouldn't just swallow shit because someone told me to.
Not from anyone.
That hasn't changed much.
I'm still determined.
Still stubborn.
I still ask questions.
I still refuse to accept things just because someone says that's the way they are.
I learnt how to stand on my own feet a long time ago.
Maybe way too early.
And now I'm here.
By some measures, successful.
By my own measure:
I want to do more.
Not because what I have isn't enough.
Not because I need to prove that the stubborn little girl was worth something.
I just know there is more in me.
More I could do.
More I could give.
And I want to give.
If I had the space to do it.
Maybe that's the strange part.
I spent so much of my childhood learning how much I could carry.
And now I'm trying to learn that perhaps my life doesn't have to be about carrying everything.
I just want to see what I can do when I'm not.
✨☕🩷
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