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Every sibling in the family hierarchy has their own struggles and battles by their roles — youngest, middle, or even the oldest — and yet, all of them are valid. But there's one group that quietly bears everything and the heaviest weight among those all: the eldest. Being the oldest often means being the standard, the example, the one who “should know better.” From the moment a younger sibling arrives, the dynamic shifts. What used to be a world full of undivided attention suddenly becomes one of affection and new responsibilities. You are expected to understand, to give away to your siblings, and to lead by example — even when you’re still learning how to be yourself, you still need to include them in finding themselves and be with them in growing; because you are the eldest. As you grow, the pressure doesn’t go away. In fact, it deepens. You start hearing things like “Panganay ka, kaya gawin mo 'yan!” or “Ikaw dapat tingalain ng nga kapatid mo.” Mistakes are no longer just mistakes — they’re lessons you’re supposed to embody for others. The world tells you that you should be strong, responsible, and inspiring because your siblings will look up to you, even though inside you are tired, scared, and lost, because you can't give up; because you are the eldest. And if you are so exhausted that you finally break down, your pain is often dismissed with, “Kaartehan.” Being the firstborn means paving a path without a guide. There’s no older sibling to show you how to navigate heartbreak, failure, or identity. You learn the hard way — through trial, error, and quiet tears at night. It can feel lonely, being the one who carries everyone’s expectations but rarely gets asked how you are doing. You’ve learned how to hide your exhaustion behind a smile, acting like everything’s okay even when it isn’t — because if you break down, who’s left to keep things from falling apart? Sometimes, it’s as simple as not having privacy — from being forced to share your toys and shows, to bringing your younger sibling everywhere you go. It’s always about setting an example, rarely about having space for yourself. But behind the strong facade, behind the achievements and sacrifices, lies the silent question many eldest children whisper to themselves when the weight becomes too much: 𝘈𝘮 𝘐 𝘌𝘯𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩? Because while the world sees strength, what they often miss is the quiet longing — the desire to be seen not just as a role model, but as a person who also needs love, patience, and understanding. Maybe that’s the hardest part about being the eldest. You’re the one everyone looks up to, yet sometimes, all you want is someone to look back and say, “You’re doing enough. You are enough.”