Unspoken Words

1

If my life were a story, I would never be considered the main character. It's not a self deprecating comment, it's just the truth.

The problem started when I was born. My parents had my sister, Angelina, 11 years before they had me. I was what you call a "surprise", or a "welcome addition" as my parents say. That doesn't change the fact that I wasn't even alive for half of our family photos that are hanging up around our house.

Growing up as a second generation immigrant, my Chinese parents had high expectations. They faced so many challenges when immigrating to Canada, learning English while trying to apply for jobs. Angelina was the successful child they always wanted: a volleyball scholarship to Cornell at 17, law school graduate at 24. Enter me, Emma Chen, a mediocre student at best with zero athletic capabilities. While my parents whisked my sister off to volleyball practice or to SAT tutors, I was left on my own, finding comfort in writing in my tattered notebook.

I felt like I was left behind over the years. I distanced myself from my family and the few friends I had. It was easy to slip away through the cracks and hide in the shadows.

"Ready for school?" my mother's voice snapped me away from my thoughts. We were in the car, sitting in the school parking lot.

I nodded absentmindedly, reaching to unlock the car door.

"Wait, Emma," she said. I looked over, and she frowned, as if not knowing what to say.

"Pay attention in class, you need good marks for university," she finally said.

"Right. Of course," I replied, getting out of the car and shutting the door.

It's times like these where I wish I could tell my mom everything. What if I don't want to go to university? What if I want something completely different from what you want?

All these unspoken words are written in my notebook. Sometimes I worry that one day I would just spill out all the secrets I hold in. Writing them down feels like they're out there in the world, even though no one has seen them but me.

*

The first day of school is never an accurate representation of the year. The excitement of seeing friends and catching up on gossip wears off by the second week. I never really felt like I belonged in school. I felt too Canadian to hang out with the international Chinese students, being born and raised in Canada. But I also felt too Chinese to fit in with the popular, white girls. Instead I stray on the outside, minding my own business and keeping my head down. Hushed whispers surrounded me as I trudged through the halls.

"Justin and Rachel broke up?"

"She's so upset, apparently he left her for a college girl–"

"Oh my god, guys, have you seen the new transfer?"

I passed by Rosie Highland and her group, rolling my eyes. She and I used to be best friends in elementary school. We were inseparable—we were like sisters. Until the summer before grade 9, when I mistakenly told her one of my secrets. It changed everything.

I picked at Rosie's pillow and took a deep breath. We were lying on her bed, talking.

"If I tell you something, do you promise not to judge me?"

"Of course," Rosie said, grabbing a handful of popcorn. "You can tell me anything, you know that."

"Okay," I said, my heart pounding. I swallowed, feeling like the room got smaller. "I think I'm bisexual."

It was the first time I had ever said it out loud, and it felt like a weight had been lifted off my shoulders. I had been keeping it in for so long, and it was a relief to finally tell someone. I glanced back at Rosie and all the comfort I just felt bottomed out.