I still remember the day when my mother stopped me mid-sentence, saying,

“Aariz, mind your language, especially in front of your siblings.”

To me, what I said wasn’t offensive at all, just a casual “Abey chal na!” while I was on a call with a friend. But as I hung up, I saw my younger brother and sister watching me, taking note of every move I made. Something changed inside me right then.

It wasn’t just about me anymore. It was then that I realised — I, the firstborn, the eldest, had to lead by example. I began to feel the pressure to set a good example for my younger siblings. From then on, I began to measure my words, my tone and even my laughter. I started thinking twice before saying anything. And without noticing, I began to grow up a little faster than I should have.

The child who had to grow up too soon

Sometimes, when I see children on the roadside — the ones selling flowers or wiping windshields at traffic signals — my eyes always find the eldest. That small child, barely nine or maybe seven, is taking care of the younger ones, scolding them, feeding them and protecting them. Because that’s what being the eldest sibling looks like. You’re still a child inside, but you learn to hold yourself up like an adult.

That image always hits me. No matter what your culture, background or place in society is, if you’re the firstborn, you carry a tonne of weight. Many don’t even realise it, but the moment your mother calls you “Bari behen” or “Bara bhai,” something shifts. You suddenly feel older than your years, responsible somehow. It makes you believe you’re the one in charge — automatically. And with time, you start to notice how those responsibilities quietly balloon, growing without warning. So you begin to mould yourself around them.

It starts with you giving up........

© Dawn Young Magazine