“Austin! Marilyn! Come downstairs!”
That’s always the first thing I yell when I walk through the door to my house. I don’t even take my shoes off sometimes. I just drop my backpack, dig through whatever bag I’ve brought home and call them over.
There are a lot of things that can make me happy. Academic hard work, a compliment from a stranger, a concert where I lose my hearing, a spontaneous hangout with friends… This list is never-ending. But nothing beats the feeling of watching my little brother sprint down the stairs with his little socks on or my sister pretending to be nonchalant, even though I can see her face light up, as I hand them my personalized gift every time I go back. That specific happiness — of being the big sister who came home and thought of them — is on a whole other level.
I don’t contact my siblings all that much. My sister is 16 and in her own world: school, friends, homecoming, new internet memes. We text here and there, usually a “Can you buy me UGGs?” or “Can you look over an email?” But I can only reach my 5-year-old brother when I actually go home. He’s living his best kindergarten life with his pumpkin patch trips and Halloween class parties. But every single time I’m home, the routine is the same. He always gives me a hug and says how much he misses me, then asks, “Did you get me the blue ship?” I’ve never known what blue ship he’s looking for.
I’ve been on the search for that mysterious blue ship model for quite a while, from the Beijing International Airport to Copenhagen’s toy stores to Miniso. I still have not found that blue ship model he is looking for, but I kept finding alternatives. Bringing back a red bike model, a BMW 1/20 car model, plushies ranging from the aquarium axolotls to Sanrio’s Kuromi. And every time I hand my present to him, he lights up anyway, almost forgetting about the ship for a second.
Maybe that’s me showing my love for them… through gift-giving because I can’t be there to spend time with them in person. I can’t go on walks with my brother and get him a chocolate donut. I can’t annoy my sister by going into her room and doing absolutely nothing. I realized that when I walk past cute stores, I don’t think, “What do I want?” Instead, I look for things my siblings would love. My default shopping setting is not me. It’s them.
What really hit me recently is this: in my memory, for the first few years, my family was just my parents and me. But for my sister and brother, I’ve been there literally their whole lives. They don’t remember a time without me, and moving to college means taking away a part of their picture of family. I was initially so excited to be away from home and only going back during breaks. But I realized that I want to be there to watch my siblings grow, to make them happy, to guide them to achieve what they want to achieve, to be a constant mentor and pillar for them to lean on.
Being the eldest is weird. You grow up faster not because you want to but because everyone kind of expects you to. You’re the one who helps translate, who helps fill out tax forms, who explains to your sister what “AP” actually means, who lets your brother use your arm as a train track even though you’re exhausted. You’re the one they watch. You become the experimental child and the example at the same time.
And with that comes this really strong protective instinct. I know it sounds dramatic, but I’ll say it anyway: I will protect them at all costs. I want to be the person they call when something goes wrong. I want to be the person they text after achieving something big and want me to be proud of them.
So yeah, I’ll keep hunting for that blue ship. I’ll keep buying plushies and makeup bags and random models from airports. I’ll keep yelling their names when I walk in. And I’ll forever be honored that I was born first and get to love them first.
Linda Huang is a sophomore from Rockville, Md. majoring in Biomedical Engineering. Her column celebrates growth and emotions that define young adulthood, inviting readers to live authentically.
