the squeaky wheel gets the grease.

for the longest time, i struggled with myself.
i was always afraid. of almost everything.
i hid my fear with a loud attitude, with loud words
and actions that even i didn't understand.

i absorbed things like a sponge,
making them me. i picked up
others' interests like they were
all i had.

i didn't know who i was. still, i hardly do.
but that's enough for me to pinpoint what i lack.

i am the oldest child. while i was loud, my siblings were louder.
they got the praise.
i'm the honors student. while i did good, my siblings did better.
they got the kudos.

i had friends. while i wanted to go to parties, my siblings could.
they got to go.
i had wants. while i wanted to be seen, my siblings were.
they were mini-mes.

i told my father all this. everything. how i felt seconded, thirded, fourthed to
my sisters and my brother, and i remember his face, then.
i remember the slight smile there, the sad eyes,  his voice.
"the squeaky wheel gets the grease, eh?"

i hated it. i hated how he said it.
i still do. i look back on it, on the scene
me, made to drive, about to take my driving test for the second time
crying, sobbing the whole way.

i remember, growing up, how much i wanted people to notice me
and acknowledge me for being a person, not for being an older sister.
i limped. the skin of my heel, ripped away, the skin bleeding into my sock.
layers down until the skin was pink. i remember how it felt.

i hated it, but maybe someone would ask me what was wrong.
maybe, maybe someone would take me seriously.
no one. i had no second glances.
not even during gym as i lagged behind. it was so, so painful.

i'm in college, now. i'm almost an adult. a week and then i'll be.
and yet, i still struggle with wanting to be seen. here, i'm just a nameless face.
i go to the dining halls, i go to class, day in, day out, in the middle of a pandemic.
and all i want to do is go home and be told i'm doing a good job.

i replay those few moments of praise.
being up in front of people, reading a poem that i wrote but didn't believe in.
walking from the van after graduation, my dad telling me he was proud of me.
yet, i look back, and they seem like nothing. maybe they are.

i sob. thinking of those times where i was singled out for things
that i didn't think were that much, but everyone else thought they were.
i didn't think i'd graduate. i didn't mean to.
i didn't think i'd speak my own words to a crowd.

i vividly remember bursting into tears after reading it.
i'd seen someone who had, maybe for the first time,
asked me if i was alright, i think. and i couldn't handle it.
i thought myself a coward.

even now, i look back and wish i had done more to stand out.
to have done more things to get a "good job, rowan!"
or something along those lines.
i'm sure i'll have more opportunities in the future, but

it will all be tinged bitter-sweet.