At the age of 7, I witnessed firsthand what it was like to be chosen last.

My parents constantly prioritized my sister, giving her the gifts that she wanted, spending money on extravagant birthday parties that were themed to her liking.

I waited. Wishing hopefully that they would do the same on mine. My heart leaped with joy at the thought of it. I was going to do a frozen themed birthday party, and I would be Elsa. I was often characterized as Anna, the side character, to the point where i wasn't able differentiate whether i truly liked her or because of how brainwashed my mind was.

The day never came.

My heart kept telling me next year. Next year. Next year. I believed it. Year after year, I would await for the day, disappointment consumed me. Year after year.

I stopped believing.

When I started highschool, I was ecstatic at the thought of making more friends. School was the only place where I had the freedom to talk. Gossip with friends, blush from crushes, having a social life. It all changed though the first day of school. Students were gathered around the classroom, spotting free tables. The only sound was the chatter of boys, introducing themselves while old one's scurry around. For some odd reason, the thought of introducing myself freightend me. I found out that talking to boys was weird and would make me a pick me. I wondered why?

When students were called upon to introduce themselves, I patiently awaited for my turn. Friends called upon others, laughing along with them, calling out familiar faces and disregarding me. My turn arrived when the teacher finally noticed my presence at the end of class. Embarrassment coated my face but I managed to pull a straight face. Tears brimmed my eyes, begging to be break away, but that would be more embarrassing so I blinked them away before their full potential.

The damn broke walking back home. Pouring tears and swatting hands filled the trip back.

My parents didn't notice.

Would they have even cared if I'd told them?

I'd lived like this. Trying to matter to someone enough for them to care, but never did it. They acted as if my existence was irrelevant, like I was never worthy of their attention. They stole the only remaining confidence I ever had in myself, leaving a aching heart. As if they had the right to plunder it in the first place. All my life I was always belittled, putting me second to their plans. For once I wished to feel worthy of attention. I'd put my heart and soul into the only piece of my life with a fraction of happiness, my writing.

Writing is a place where I can escape, a place where I could matter and live in a world where my existence was never disregarded. A world in which you'd dream of being in, imagination ruled my mind. A place where I could finally be the main character. The character who was of significance in this world. Writing gives you a magnetic force, pulling and roping you in.

I'd never told anyone.

Fear of wondering what they might do if they found out? I wasn't sure. Would they have ripped the only happiness I felt just to see my life falter.

I was always characterized as the innocent girl, the quiet kid sitting in the corner reading, the girl who never mattered, from my parents, a side character. I'd show them. I'd show this world exactly what a innocent girl like me could do with the power in my hands. The power of writing want I want to be true, the power of creating a world of pure imagination. My life was a mess but I could write a book.