To See Another Clearly

I have always been a silent watcher, an observer on the sidelines, quietly absorbing the stories of those around me. While others bask in the spotlight of their accomplishments and dreams, I find solace in shadow, content to witness triumphs and setbacks from afar. Like a palm held forward to hold a ray of light, my warmth carries glory that does not belong to me, and I hold still, embracing tighter the seconds until that light fades in its daily ritual of subsiding, and, colder in its absence, I lean myself forward in hopes of touching that glory once more at its earliest return.

That day, the stage was set, and I could hear the floor rumble beneath my feet as my parents followed my sister's every move. She gracefully moved through the house, and the air seemed to part in her presence. With each stride, she exhaled an air of confidence, her unwavering gaze meeting the challenge before her: the project set for completion.

Tick, tick, tick—the sound of the clock echoed in harmony with the quickening pace of my heartbeat as my eyes lingered on the date marked boldly on the calendar: July 7th. Today was weeks of preparation—the highly anticipated science fair, where my sister was set to showcase her experimental creation and I was set to display my own. Downstairs I could hear my parents' excitement buzzing through the air, where the three-time champion was immersed in her final preparations. Balancing my own project in my arms, with my backpack pushing down at my shoulders, I delicately maneuvered the doorknob with my elbow for the door to swing open. Each creak of my design felt like a scrape in my bones, a crack and potential breaking, and the hurt of it was not quite enough for me to find solace in that the pain, for it was unseen.

Each step I took towards the living room echoed beneath my feet, urging me forward. My parents' eyes briefly met mine, a mixture of surprise and pity in their gazes. Their eyes bore into me, scrutinizing my every move as if questioning my ability to walk. Their weak smiles, a facade of support, felt familiar. It was a smile I had become all too acquainted with as they silently compared the tacky plants of my project to my sister’s elaborate system of tubes. Their eyes told a story of unspoken expectations, a silent whisper, “Why can’t you be more like her?”

Tap, tap, tap, the sound of my shoes resonating with their sound of judgement.

My eyes instinctively were drawn to her: her jacket pristine, her shoes polished, and her hair perfectly in place. Snap, snap, snap—my thoughts imploded in my head like a sheet of bubble wrap smashed together quickly: the crumpled collar of my own outfit, the unruly strands of my hair. She made her way towards the front door, my parents flanking on either side. My heavy footsteps stomped behind hers, leaving echo-puddles of disappointment.

My eyes fixated on the invisible puddles. With each droplet, the distorted reflections of my own insecurities stared back at me.

—

Each table held a creation, carefully crafted and nurtured, like a glimpse into the secret chambers of each participant’s mind. As I moved through the crowd, my gaze was drawn to the left, as if pulled by an invisible force. A hush fell over the surrounding onlookers, and like a choreographed dance, all eyes turned towards my sister’s project. It was a moment frozen in time, a held breath of anticipation.

Of course, how could they not?

Judges’ eyes widened with intrigue, eager to understand. Conversation filled the air, whispers with awe, wonder swirling like a gentle breeze. My heart pounded, unheard. I watched as the judges listened attentively, nodding and occasionally jotting notes. A hit of envy tugged within me, but I swallowed it, reminding myself, today will be my moment.

The countless hours I had poured into the red-light-green-light exposure, the research, the experiments, late nights spent analyzing the data all came up to this moment. I looked up as my biology teacher, Mr. Smith, stood in front of me. “Ready to start?” he asked with a grin plastered on his face.

Click, click, click—my eyes focused on the pen in his hand, clicking up and down. Holding my breath, words accumulated at the edge of my lips. I unveiled the results, displaying the lush green leaves and vibrant blooms that adorned my plants. I described how by stimulating the specific pigment, the red light played a vital role in regulating growth, with a friend, green light, as a balancing force. My fingers held up the data and graphs—a story in numbers across time.

In time, the judges’ eyes traveled towards another table.

Tick, tick, tick, as the final 10 minutes before the awards counted down.

—

Clap, clap, clap. The room erupted in applause as my sister stood on the stage, basking in admiration and recognition. As she stood there, holding the trophy aloft with a perfect smile on her face, her successes had become a tapestry of triumphs, painting a picture of determination and achievement. It seemed as though she effortlessly commanded the spotlight, shining in a way both inspiring and intimidating. Just as the red light played a vital role in regulating growth, I saw my sister’s accomplishments illuminated beneath the vibrant hue that captivated everyone’s attention.

There are always moments when I yearn to walk in the spotlight, to be seen and celebrated for my own accomplishments. But I know I am a silent watcher. I will always be there, cheering her on from the sidelines. I will celebrate her victories as if they were my own, and I will hold her close during her moments of doubt and uncertainty. For it is in these intimate connections, forged in the quiet spaces, that the essence of our bond shines brighter than any experiment could show. From the side I clap and clap and clap.