Inherited Weight

‎I existed first, carrying the malison that disguised as glory. I smiled the brightest only to be crushed by the weight I was never meant to carry.

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Solace is nothing but a phantasm of my own making. It is a dream I was unable to reach—a fleeting desire that was refused before it could be granted. Being the oldest means I should hide the tears streaming. It means I cannot fail. It means I cannot let weakness be seen.

Time passed by and the days rolled on, yet still I am struck by the fate of being a pillar—a performer of the spectacle that plays an all-around role.

Every breath I take is an air of suffocation; a burden of responsibility sticking like glue. Voices kept on whispering beneath this unshaken mask of mine: You cannot give up. You need to sacrifice. You must set your emotions aside.This sounded unfair, but as if I ever have a choice. I still am bound to the path of endless anguish.

Being the eldest is a kind of curse—a quiet underlying pressure. A duty to prioritize the others, and be left with the absence of my own self. A continuous endeavor that drifted me away from what I truly wished for.

Yet beyond every figure, I am still young.

I simply grew up too swiftly.

Learned too quickly.

Worked too arduously.

Beneath this strong identity of mine, I am still here—yearning for a break from these fathomless expectations.

I want to rest. I want to breathe. I want to feel liberty.