Nicole

The plan was to meet my brother at his apartment, but it was too late for that. He called me first telling me to meet up with him at our grandparents' house as we are going to celebrate our grandma's birthday. But since I knew I had to have a conversation with him before we met there, I told him I would pick him up and we'd drive that way together. With my mind all over the place the last few days, Grandma's birthday slipped my mind. In addition to that, she's not my favorite person, not really someone I want to think about. 

I can't label my grandmother as a cruel woman. She's the grandmother who attended every one of my birthdays, as well as bringing a gift or two for each one of them. But there is a level of malice behind her actions. As a child, I wasn't the brightest or the most likable. I had a certain character as a kid, being unlikeable. As a kid, you never realize how the lack of attention can affect you. It made me desperate to be liked. That may come easily for other kids but not me. I was drowning to make my grandparents like me, but no matter what, everything I did or said made me more desperate for attention. I hated my childhood. All that made me insecure. The longing for something. Someone. It all came from there. 

At the brother's apartment, I pick him up at his apartment. My brother is a passive average guy. He went through what I went through as a kid with my grandparents. The only difference is that he was treated a bit better because he was a male. I say only a bit better because he was not the favorite but he was better than me. He was likable and an intelligent kid. That made him likable. He was passive, a sweet kid. While I was a character, and I am always reminded. My brother is a rising junior in college studying engineering. He plans to become a chemical engineer but he's still taking it slow as far as a career. We're about six years apart. I can say we get along but sometimes I feel like he has it easier than me even now. 

My brother, Rick spots my car and walks over. He enters my car with his opening line being, "Nic, I haven't heard from you in ages. Where have you been?"

"I rented a place not far from here." I start driving toward our grandparent's house. 

"I didn't even know you were back in the States."

"That's why I suggested that we ride together."

He takes a moment as if detecting something is off, "Is something wrong?"

"No?"

"No?"

"I split up with Justin."

"What?"

"More like he split with me?"

"Why? I thought you were in love with that guy?" I wince when he says that.

"I'd rather not talk about it."

"I don't know what to say," My brother is passive. And in the corner of my mind, I sometimes hold a level of resentment towards him because of that. I never felt like he had my back. 

"There is not much to say. I just know that we are not together anymore. Whatever that was, it's done."

After a few hours, we arrive at our grandparents' place. I wouldn't say I like it here. It's bittersweet. My childhood was spent here, but I hate it. Every time I think of a happy memory it's followed by a bitter one. I have so much resentment toward this place. I am always in a bad mood when I come to this place. Every time I feel happy, I am reminded that I was looked down. That I was stomped on. And worst of all, I didn't know any better. Because I was just a kid, all I wanted was to be liked, to be accepted but all I got was backlash of how I was not the kid they preferred. The kid that they did not respect. Maybe they did love me or care about me, after all, I was their granddaughter but I was never their favorite nor their preferred one. I was just the kid they picked on and tore down. They broke me. My personality. My younger self now has this complex to be accepted by them. I want to let that go. I want them to crumb like I did. Because I was only a kid who could not fight back. 

As my brother and I exit my car and walk toward the house, with every step my mind runs through everything I hate about this place. My grandparents live in a ranch-style house. It's a light pink with a dark brown roof. Its house is known as a horseback riding ranch that is run by my uncle.  My childhood wasn't a dark one, at least I wouldn't labeled as such but there were moments when my brother and I were abused. 

We enter the house and there it is. The smiles. I hate those smiles and greetings. They feel fake to me. I feel their malice cloud me, releasing an overload of anxiety all over my body that makes what to throw up. Like every time we visit, we greet everyone with a hug and a side cheek kiss. I have no idea why we have to do this. What is the point of all that, when I have never received a proper apology from any of these people? I have two aunts and one uncle. My father was the oldest of the three and he was fair man, but I never felt close to him. He felt more absent than present. Among them, my uncle is more likable but he has an annoying personality. The ones I detest more than I can describe are my two aunts. But all they do is follow my grandma's lead. 

As my brother and I finish our rounds, my grandmother speaks before we can take a seat. "Greet your favorite cousin like a good girl." A woman 4 years younger than me comes into the living room where we are all gathered. One feature I share with this woman is our dark olive skin color. But in contrast, she is taller, with a slender body and longer hair. She has more defined curls than mine. My hair is rather thin as opposed to hers which is thicker. Her name is Melaine. She is my cousin. And she is the girl I hate the most.