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Gaya

Have you ever had a sibling who seems to get everything right? The kind who wins awards, gets promoted, makes good money, and gives your parents something new to brag about every week? Well, that wasn't me.

Oh, were you hoping it would be? You see, I was the sibling who hadn't quite figured out what to do with their life. I wish I could say that things have changed now and that I finally found my footing, but that hasn't quite been the case yet.

I have an older brother, Toby. Three years older than me, and I know they say babies come into this world with nothing, but I could swear that Toby was given a life strategy plan from heaven, because for as long as I could say my own name, I remember Toby knowing exactly what he wanted out of life at every point. He always knew the next step to take.

Right from secondary school, he had always loved computers, and while my parents were still gushing over how tech-savvy Toby was, the next thing we saw was a scholarship offer for Toby to study Computer Science at some tech school. By 19, he had graduated, and not many years later, he landed a remote software development job with an international tech company. He currently earns $12,000 a month.

Yes, dollars. Every month. And me? I've changed courses, changed career plans and updated my LinkedIn bio so many times that I'm surprised the app hasn't flagged my account yet for possible hacking.

The worst part is that my parents have never allowed me to forget how different we are.

"Look at everything your brother has achieved."

"Why can't you just be serious like Toby?"

Sometimes, I wonder whether they realise I have a name that isn't Toby's younger sister. Or that I also wish to have a job that pays me in thousands of dollars.

Being the Disappointing Child Is Exhausting.

Growing up, I was always the child who couldn't make up her mind. And don't even try to judge me because why are there so many options in the first place? All these courses, all these career paths, and everyone wants me to pick just one and stick to it forever?

But I wasn't always like this o. At 12, I was so sure I wanted to become a Doctor, but come to think of it, I think the only part that interested me was wearing the long white coat and wearing a stethoscope around my neck. Anyway, that career path didn't quite work out for me. I didn't like Physics, even worse still, I disliked Mr Patrick, my physics teacher, so much.

Eventually, I moved to commercial class. I didn't have a reason for that particular choice; it was more of a "why not?" situation. But as much as I liked accounting, I didn't like the heartache and frustration that came with being unable to balance an account properly. What if I work at a firm tomorrow and mess up their accounting system or miss one zero? My life would be over. And I didn't like business either, so I had to move to the Arts class at the end of the day.

I'm sure even you reading this have become exhausted, and believe me, even I was tired of explaining myself. But nobody was more tired than Toby. I remember telling him I was considering accounting instead of medicine. He looked at me like I'd just committed a taboo.

"Tessy, weren't you planning to study medicine?" he had said with an air of irritation.

Then he went on and on about how I'd gotten older and should be more sensible by now, because jumping from one thing to another and expecting to make anything out of my life did not go hand in hand. Same thing my parents said; infact, their speech was longer, and honestly, I had enough for one decade.

I didn't argue with Toby, but that conversation changed something between us. We weren't enemies. We just weren't particularly close either. Every conversation about my future felt like another opportunity for him to remind me that I wasn't doing enough. And honestly, I was done.

Eventually, my parents decided that since I couldn't make up my mind, they'd make it up for me. Then my dad chose Law. Apparently, becoming a barrister would finally put an end to my unseriousness.

Except I struggled terribly. I tried to keep up; I really did, but it wasn't working. I was failing courses and eventually had to beg my parents to let me change departments. Typical of Tessy, isn't it? My parents refused. According to them, I'd already done enough changing for one lifetime.

When my academic performance became bad enough that I was advised to withdraw from Law, I took a risk. I applied to transfer to International Relations and Diplomacy. It took a while, but the transfer was eventually approved, but I had to start again from 100 level.

And I didn't tell my parents. Yes, I know. Another questionable decision from Tessy.

But imagine going home to announce yet another change when everybody already believes you're incapable of finishing anything. My parents might have as well bundled me to my maternal village to stay with my grandma and help out on her farm. So while my mother was proudly introducing me as "our future barrister", I was attending International Relations lectures.

The lie was going well; nobody suspected a thing until the time came for me to graduate from the department of law. My dad had friends whose children kept going on and on about their final year activities, and he wondered why I had not mentioned such to him. That's when I knew I had to come clean, and so I did. I confessed, and oh my God, I can still remember the reactions. To say they were disappointed would be an understatement. My father was mad with rage, and my mother just kept crying as if she had lost a child. My father even threatened to stop paying my fees.

Oh, did I mention that Toby was present on that day too? Yes, he was. He came to visit my parents about something. When I had made my confession, he didn't utter a word nor a sigh, but I saw it, that look of irritation, that frown of disappointment. I wished he said something; I wished he spoke his mind that day. At least I wouldn't stay wondering what his actual words and reactions would be. But then again, I didn't even know what I expected him to say, but somehow, his silence made everything worse.

Sometimes, I Just Want Toby to Stop Winning.

The thing about having a successful sibling is that everybody assumes you're automatically happy for them. And you are. At least, you want to be, but nobody talks about how exhausting it can feel when every achievement your sibling records becomes another reminder of what you haven't achieved.

I remember when Toby won an award at work. My father shared it in our family WhatsApp group and captioned it, "The real son of his father. Congratulations, my star." My mother posted it on her status with a caption quite similar to my father's, only with more hearts. My aunties started sending prayers and congratulatory messages. I don't think I'd ever had something like that in my life. Nobody even asked me how school was going; I'm sure what they all hoped was that I just finished and got my certificate, at least.

I was happy for Toby. At least, I'd like to think that I was. I typed, "Congratulations, Toby! So proud of you." And then I cried. I cried more than I'd ever cried before.

Not because Toby didn't deserve the award. He worked hard, and I knew that. But while everybody was celebrating him, all I could think about was how I had nothing worth celebrating. No impressive job. No award. No salary that would make my father start forwarding my LinkedIn profile to his friends. Just me.

And sometimes, I'm ashamed to admit, I wished something would go wrong for Toby. Not something terrible. Just one proper failure. One mistake that would remind everybody that their golden boy was human too. Maybe then they'd stop acting like I was the only person in the family who didn't have everything figured out.

And the most annoying thing was that Toby wasn't even doing anything to me. He was just living his life. Meanwhile, I was slowly losing my mind trying to measure up.

After university, I decided that maybe tech was the answer. After all, it worked for Toby. Why couldn't it work for me, right? So I enrolled in a UI/UX design course.

My dear, that course showed me pepper. I struggled through tutorials, got frustrated with assignments and kept telling myself that if I tried hard enough, I'd eventually enjoy it. But I never did. And eventually, I quit. Another thing to add to my wall of things I couldn't finish. Fantastic.

A few weeks ago, I was talking to my friend about possibly trying software development instead.

"I'm thinking of asking Toby to send me the courses he took," I told her. "Maybe he can even guide me. Do you think that's too much?"

She asked why I wanted to learn software development, and I cited his thousand-dollar-paying job, plus he was doing exceptionally well, so I was interested too.

She sighed. And then the rest of the conversation looked like this.

"Tessy, you're always talking about Toby."

"Because everybody is always talking about Toby!"

"And I'm tired! Every time it's Toby this, Toby that. Sometimes I just wish something bad would happen to him. Let him fail at something so everybody can see he's not all that. Why are they always comparing me to him? I'm my own person!"

She went quiet. Then she said, "Tessy, are you a witch?"

I was stunned. Me, a witch? How? I'm pretty sure I wasn't tying a wrapper and dancing round a calabash at night or flying on a broom. But I can't lie; I saw where she was going. But still, I responded like I didn't understand what she meant.

"Because what do you mean you want your own brother to fail? Are you now practising witchcraft?"

I started explaining how my parents had always treated me like second fiddle. How I was tired of being the child who never got anything right. How everything Toby achieved somehow became another reason to remind me that I wasn't doing enough.

She listened. Then she said in clear, exact words, "Tessy. Don't eat your sibling's food."

I frowned and asked what she meant by that, and as if I didn't hear her the last time, she repeated it again;&nbsp;"Stop trying to eat your sibling's food, Tessy."

Then she went on to explain that Toby has found something that works for him, so I had to focus on finding what works for me, except my aim was to become Toby 2.0.

Ever since I left my friend’s place, I had been thinking about our conversation. The most annoying part of it all was that she was right.

I don't know whether software development is something I'd genuinely enjoy. The only reason I was considering doing it was because Toby tried it and it worked for him, and somehow now, I’m thinking if I tried it then it would work for me. For years, I've been so busy watching my brother's life that I've barely paid attention to mine.

Now, I still don't know exactly what I want to do. I wish I did, but I don’t. However, I’m going to try to find my own thing. Of course, there’s still my parents' opinions and all, and I won’t pretend that I don’t want their accolades too after all; I had spent practically my entire life trying to make them proud.

Tomorrow, Toby could get another promotion, and my mother could still send me his picture with a caption about how hard work pays, and I'll probably roll my eyes. But I think I owe myself the chance to figure out what I actually want, even if it takes longer than I'd hoped.

Just because my brother is succeeding right now and I’m not doesn't mean I've failed, right? And maybe I need to stop trying to become Toby 2.0 long enough to find out who Tessy really is. After all, I'm his sister, not his photocopy.

I love my brother. So why do I sometimes wish he'd fail at something, just so my parents would stop comparing us?

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