Big Sib, Little Sib

Coming into Stuyvesant, every freshman has a “Big Sib.” Most people meet their Big Sib—a mentor, a guide, or even a friend—during Camp Stuy. However, I met mine the day I was born. Turns out, my Big Sib was my older sister.

Growing up, there was never a moment when we weren’t being compared. We went to the same preschool, elementary school, middle school, and now, high school. If she could do something, my parents expected me to be able to do it as well: I signed up for lessons the week after she started playing piano; if she got Student of the Month, I was expected to get Student of the Month. My parents wanted me to be just like her. Yet, while she thrived under my parents’ expectations, I kept falling short—not because of a lack of effort, but from a lack of passion.

What I did enjoy was art. I enjoyed watching people draw, and I loved looking at century-old paintings in beautiful museums. For a few months, my parents let me take art lessons, and I was learning at a quick pace. Yet, when my mom decided that I wasn’t up to her standards, she stopped my lessons and said I “wasn’t going anywhere with this.” Art classes were replaced with piano lessons in order for me to “get somewhere.”

It wasn’t my sister’s fault. She never really bragged about being smarter; she was simply smart, and people assumed that I would be the same. We had the same teachers as we progressed through school, and once my teachers found out that I was her brother, they would always say something along the lines of, “You must be smart, then.” When I entered the third grade, I had the same teacher that my sister had two years prior. My teacher recognized me as my sister's brother and held high expectations for me and my work: when I was struggling with learning how to write cursive, she would say that my sister always got it the first time she tried; when I couldn’t memorize my times tables quickly enough, my teacher would say that my sister always memorized them easily.

Outside of the classroom, our roles in the family were already forming: she was the one who did her homework quickly and then went on to do extra work, and I was the one who spent afternoons drawing or watching TV. She would always be in her room studying for her next tests, while I would be across the hall playing video games and chatting with my friends. We were raised in the same household, under the same roof, yet the world had already split us into categories. She was the hardworking one, while I was the “other one.” 

When I was in sixth grade, I learned that she was admitted to Stuyvesant. I felt happy for her at first, but when my parents started texting every relative, and she started posting it on her social media, it felt kind of like an expectation for me to get into Stuyvesant. My parents said that she was the “experimental” child and believed that if I were to follow in her footsteps, I could also test into Stuyvesant. However, she took being an experimental child with pride and regret; the label made her feel like her accomplishments were somewhat diminished. Our parents made her feel that her achievements were because of what they had done for her, not because of what she had done for herself.

At the time, I didn’t even know what Stuyvesant was, yet I was enrolled in SHSAT prep at the same preparatory school that she had gone to. In eighth grade, I felt that my entire purpose revolved around the fact that I had to go to Stuyvesant. I lost a lot of my interests, distanced myself from friends, and believed that my entire purpose was to take this test and do well. I took practice tests, studied for many hours, and felt nervous for the test. Test day came around, and I wasn’t the happiest with my performance. A few months later, however, my score came out along with the results that I had been accepted into Stuyvesant. Instead of feeling excited, it felt more like a relief that I had lived up to my parents’ expectations. Still, I was asked why my score was “so low.”  

Instead of Stuyvesant, I had the choice to go to a school where all my friends would be, where I would be able to enjoy my high school years. Despite this, I chose Stuyvesant because my sister attended. I don’t regret it; however, I wonder how my life would be different if I hadn’t chosen Stuyvesant. I thought going to this school was a way to prove to my parents that I was as smart, and that I could be seen as my own, individual person. Instead of being known as the “less smart” one, I tried my best in school and did fairly well. Along with my grades, I made my own decisions and made new friends. I joined clubs that I wanted to join and participated in activities that I enjoyed. I didn’t do these things for my parents, but it helped them see that I was my own person. At first, I was scared that my parents would not agree with me, but I realized that I was the only person in charge of my life, and I needed to make the most out of the four years I have here. I didn’t want my friends and teachers to know me just because of my sister. Before the first day of school, we both made a pact not to mention or acknowledge each other in the halls.

Stuyvesant was hard—not just academically, but socially, mentally, and emotionally—and I constantly questioned whether or not I had made the right decision. I’d walk into class and feel somewhat behind compared to everyone else. Despite the pact we made before the first day, I faced natural struggles throughout my first year at Stuyvesant, and my sister became someone I could always turn to for support. Whether it was a question about homework or asking if she had ever had a certain teacher, she was usually helpful. It wasn’t the relationship I expected to have with her. Before Stuyvesant, we would always argue and fight about both small and unimportant things: we would argue about what to have for dinner, and sometimes we would argue about who was going to be more “successful in life.” We had a really shaky relationship, but going to the same school brought us together. Instead of comparing ourselves to each other, I started to think of us as two people trying to understand our difficulties in the same environment. She never really told me exactly what to do, but gave me honest advice about what I should do, reminding me that it was okay to move at my own pace. I remember when she gave me advice about what classes to take during my sophomore year, and every day, I am thankful for her talking me out of taking AP Chemistry. She would tell me about her teachers giving her bad grades to comfort me when I complained about mine. It shocked me to realize that my sister wasn’t someone who had just figured it out, but was also navigating her battles.

Before, I only saw my sister at her surface level: getting high grades, meeting expectations, and being a model child. However, by attending the same school as her, I began to see that she had her own struggles as well. She would stay up into the morning, study for hours, and cry before her tests. I finally understood—she had never wanted to be the golden child, not any more than I had wanted to live in her shadow.

My sister and I were polar opposite students at Stuyvesant. She joined various computer science clubs, whereas I participated in musical and artistic activities. Instead of going to the CS Dojo or a hackathon, I enjoyed going to band rehearsals and art clubs. I started making choices for myself and realized I didn’t need to follow in the footsteps of my sister. I didn’t need to prove anything to anyone, but I wanted to see myself grow as a person. Slowly, I began to redefine what success looked like for me. It wasn’t about being crazy smart in computer science, but more about doing what I want.

When I was a freshman, I was wondering if I should participate in SING!. I asked my sister, and she said that she never did, but she didn’t advise against it. So, I ended up listening to my passions and joined the SophFrosh Band, and that ended up being one of the best decisions I’ve ever made. I made so many new friends, found something I enjoyed, and, more importantly, found a sense of identity. For the first time, I had found something that I loved while also making an impact.

I finished my freshman year of high school with many new friends, new activities that I enjoyed, and decent grades—not as good as my sister’s, but that didn’t matter. I spent my summer volunteering for causes I was passionate about. My sister, on the other hand, was inundated by the stress of college applications. Every day, I would hear her crying and complaining about all the essays she had to write, and whenever I needed to use the bathroom late at night, I would always see the light on in her room. My parents would always chastise her, interrogating her about the status of her essays, extracurricular activities, or if she made sure all her grades were correctly inputted. I thought to myself that this would be me in two years, and if someone like my sister couldn’t figure it out, I would not be able to either. Near the beginning of the school year, she submitted her early applications, yet she was still preoccupied with the feeling of rejection. She would tell me that she thought she would definitely get rejected because everyone else had better extracurriculars than her, but I couldn’t do anything but agree. However, this brought us closer to each other. I helped convince her that not getting into a top school wasn’t the end of the world.

A month passed, and the day her results were released, she was feeling extremely nervous and was shaking the entire day. However, she was accepted into an Ivy League, one of her dream schools. Everyone was proud, rightfully so. My sister had worked incredibly hard, and she did deserve every moment of praise. But while the congratulations echoed, I sat quietly with pressure swelling in my chest. I didn’t want to be bitter. I was so proud of her. But I felt that my parents now expected me to get into an Ivy League, too. Again, it reminded me of when she had first gotten into Stuyvesant—this time, with even more added pressure.

The truth is, I don’t even know if I want to go to an Ivy League. Of course, the prestige that comes with it would be helpful in the future, but I don’t know if I would be happy. I’ve always thought about going to a college that has a beautiful campus, a relaxed atmosphere, and an overall college experience with many friends and a social life. Although I knew that which school I attend is ultimately my choice, I had this feeling that not meeting up to my family’s expectations would further strengthen the idea that my sister is the smart one and I’m not.

A few months passed, nearing the end of the school year. In the middle of the night on a random day, I realized that in a couple of months, the person who had been across the hall for sixteen years was now going to be hundreds of miles away. I’m happy that she gets to live her own life, but I wonder how quiet these nights will be once she moves away. It made me realize that the point of my life isn’t to live up to my sister’s reputation or to always strive to become my sister, but to build my own life alongside hers. Her life is hers, and mine is mine—they should be independent, but never separated. We will always live our own independent lives with different problems and different circumstances, but we will never be alone. We will be able to rely on and depend on each other.

Siblings don’t ever show affection toward each other—we say “Your breath smells bad” and steal pencils from each other. I’ll stay up late at night editing her college essays, but I would never bring her a glass of water like a sentimental fool. We trade insults like currency, but I'm the only one who gets the joke when she texts me a cursed meme during class. And so it hits me sometimes—when she leaves for college, there’ll be no one to ruthlessly roast my bad haircuts or dumb life choices in a way that somehow still feels comfortable.

Now, at Stuyvesant, I no longer try to ignore my sister, but rather introduce my friends to her. She’s not who I am, but she plays an important part in my identity. And while I don’t know who or what I’m going to become, I’ll start being okay with not knowing and let time tell. After all, success isn’t where I end up; it’s about learning to breathe amidst the bustling hallways of Stuyvesant, about asking for help when I need it, and about cultivating strong relationships with the people around me.

I don’t know where I’ll go to college or what I’ll major in. But, I do know that I’m more than just someone's little sister. I hope she does well in college and focuses on her academics, but I also hope that she has a good group of friends and enjoys her college experience.

In one episode of Modern Family, Haley tells her sister Alex: "You're only doing it to yourself, because you're smart and pretty, and sort of funny in a way that I don't really get but other people seem to enjoy. So you can either start fresh next year, or be the freak that flipped off her class." Alex responds, "You really think I'm pretty?" To which Haley says, "Shut up!"

That’s the best advice a Big Sib could ever give.

And if you’re reading this, clean your room.