I am the layer between two slices of bread – the unlucky middle child whom no one quite knows what to do with. I don’t fit in with the bread, yet there cannot be a sandwich without me. This was my predominant feeling growing up. Oh I am sure that my parents did not think of me in that light but I cannot deny that that is how I felt. Parents rarely discriminate among their own children – some comparison is inevitable but it is not malicious. Still a sensitive, skinny kid like I used to be was sorely affected by my occupancy of the least desirable position of middle child.

I could never figure out what my purpose in the family was. There was an elder girl and a younger boy – a second girl is completely irrelevant. The eldest child whether it be girl or boy always occupies a position of prominence in a family. There can be only one first. The first baby’s first cry, laughter, baby steps – all are looked upon in awe and wonder. The second child would be equally wondrous if he or she were the opposite sex. Else it’s more or less the “oh yeah – we’ve seen that” sort of mentality. So the second girl is right from the moment of birth, a has-been. But being fairly adorable I had my moments of admiration and a loyal fan following among my uncles and aunts till we shifted to the Gulf and my brother was born.

My brother’s birth was the landmark event of my parents’ existence. How they had longed for a boy for more than ten years before he came along! They had achieved a completion, an aspired for perfection after years of prayer and they were ecstatic. Nothing could be enough for him – no one could match their little prince and the little girl who had suddenly become a big sister overnight was completely forgotten. She was a quiet little thing who could so easily be overlooked because she simply stared with her large eyes but was too timid to voice anything.

From the beginning her brother and sister seemed to fit together well – they were both larger than average children who were robust while she was slender. They loved food while she hated eating. She loved books where they loved to watch television. Her sister took care of their baby brother very well since she was ten years older and very caring. But she always felt at a loss with her baby brother who always seemed too big to carry and who adored her but usurped her little privileges by virtue of simply being born.

A child with no sense of identity who questions her very reason for existence at a tender age turns out to be a confused adult who has an underlying sense of not being good enough even after getting ample peer recognition growing up. Of course the parents are not aware of this – how can they know that one sensitive child absorbs perceived neglect and traces of negativity and dies a small death each time they forget to pay attention? I have grown to be someone who cannot be too close to her parents because of all the shells erected to keep away feelings. I don’t ask them their opinions on anything and am very independent in my thought process. My siblings rely on my mother’s opinions and give her a lot of importance in words– I cannot do it – I can get along with her well but only on my terms. I learnt the hard way that being emotionally open was harming me greatly and I closed up to all but close friends. Middle children are always weird – they are the thinkers always wanting to know who they are and why they exist – they are not easy to get along with but once their shells are breached, they are capable of a love all the more potent for its lack of free availability.