Micro-Management

I often find myself nitpicking at every single detail I can locate. But after it has been practically shoved into your face that you are second at best, it is reminded to you in every inconceivable way. When I sit down to have lunch, my plate is about 3/4 peas and 1/4 rice, while my mom is picking each potato out of her plate to put into my brother's. The only picture my parents bought from the school photos back when I was an only child is sitting in a cracked photo frame on the floor of my room, as my brother's pictures decorate the fridge. Or the time when my mother came to ask for forgiveness for yet another mistake she made, only to forget my name halfway through, so I was referred to as my brother's sister, because that is all I am. All these might be a coincidence, maybe my mom didn't notice that she gave me so many peas, perhaps she meant to give me potatoes too. Maybe my parents couldn't afford school pictures back then, but now they can, so they never want to miss a chance. Perhaps there was so much on my mom's mind that she just happened to forget the name of her daughter, whom she had known before her son. Maybe I am micro-managing every detail, to give myself some more pity points. I don't know.