14/01/2025
To all the ATEs who became a second mother to their siblings, I appreciate all of you!
The Parentification of the Eldest Daughter
She stands on her own two feet with a stone-cold face but a soft heart. She is the one feisty, independent daughter that they never have to worry about while the weight of the family lies on her shoulders: the weight of expectations, responsibilities, and trauma. This could be a girl who once hid her younger siblings behind the door to shield them from the hostilities on the other side. She could be an overachieving student or a breadwinner; a dreamer who settles for the practical path so she can give way to others, or the one who decides to live her dreams in the city, only to return to her new apartment, regretful upon finding her mother’s missed voice call. Somewhere out there are eldest daughters who lived one or more of these experiences. They lived through it all on their own.
The eldest daughter is blessed in a way for being tough and resilient, but often to the extent of having to tend to their siblings or parents. Somehow, a sense of adulthood comes with what the role calls for, a sense of being the second mother for your younger siblings. As kids her age enjoy the springtime of life, she frets over the bills that made a stack on the kitchen counter. She runs errands, burns the midnight oil, and readies her brother’s lunchbox. As they grow older, she grows wearier. But the eldest daughter only “grew up” because she had to. It is something that had been inherently expected of her from the moment her place in the household was secured, like a legacy she never asked for. Still, she accepts it out of love. She becomes the glue, piecing the broken glass of a picture-perfect family.
Oh, the paradox of being the firstborn. To the little ones, she seems to have the folks wrapped around her finger. She is, after all, the one who encountered the golden days with just mom and dad; the one who never even needed to receive a hand-me-down, if not somebody else’s emotional baggage. And yet, it is the eldest who is the most forsaken in the family. Nothing like loneliness mistaken for independence.
There is a completely different twist to the glory of being first. She who seems to get what she wants never really does because the need to stand in others’ shoes comes first. She can tell when her sister is troubled about school or when her parents give each other the cold shoulder. She understands the pain of others as her own mouth is a casket of all things she never said. Nobody thought to dig it out; they stop at “I’m alright” and take it as it is, or sometimes, never at all. Only when the rest of the house is asleep do these woes resurrect into tears. Only when the masquerade of the strong, independent daughter wears off, and all that’s left to judge is her bedroom ceiling. What would it say if I admit that I am barely holding on? That I am merely fighting to put on a bold front?
There is a pressure that comes with being born first. Certainly, you can count on the eldest daughter, but who does she count on? Once it all eats away at her, who shall stand by her side as she does for so many?
She may be the eldest daughter but rarely is she ever simply a daughter.
It may not occur to us that she, too, needs to be parented. For she who does the parenting is only a child who leads the life of an adult. She longs for affection. She anticipates bedtime so that in her sleep, she lays on the hammock from the big willow tree, and her father cradles her in his arms, not for the last time, but for always.
In the fleeting moments that the eldest daughter allows her title to slip away, she thinks about what it would be like to carry on without the safe judgment of her bedroom ceiling. To afford the consequences of failure. To be free from the watchful eyes around her and to just be seen the way she is. All youthful and unaffected by it all.
Is it selfish to dream of such? she wonders despite sacrificing her own good for most of her life. As if love was something she ought to earn.
To all the daughters in the world who grew up too soon, do know that you are loved. You handled it all so well, and while this is seen, know that you are just as worthy of the kind of love that you bring to the table—with or without the lengths that you go to. So slow down, dear child. Save yourself a seat on the table. And then perhaps, one day, the eldest daughter shall finally let go of the baggage she inherited and retrace her steps to the path she truly wants.
—
Literary by Czhan Leigh Calimlim
Illustration by Ma. Lourdes Poliquit
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