I Am Sensible

My parents didn't love me.

They only loved my younger brother.

They said that I should give in to him because he was younger.

Eventually, I sacrificed everything for him, even my heart.

1

On the day my brother had his heart surgery, my parents waited with bated breath outside the operating room, not even daring to blink.

Only when the doctor came out and said the surgery was successful did they finally relax.

But they didn't know that the transplanted heart of my brother was mine.

My brother's operation was successful, and he had no adverse reactions to the transplanted heart.

Even the doctor remarked on how rare it was to find such a perfect match.

My soul was floating in the air, and I couldn't help but wonder how we could not match? We were siblings.

Yet, my parents were unaware.

They kept thanking the doctor and the heart donor.

My mother couldn't stop crying, relieved that the heart condition that had plagued my brother for over a decade was finally resolved.

It was as if a weight had been lifted off their shoulders.

They chatted with the doctor for a long time, expressing their gratitude.

In the end, they said they wanted to thank the heart donor.

The doctor thought for a while and then told them that I had requested anonymity before passing.

He mentioned I was an 18-year-old girl who had selflessly donated all my organs, saving many lives.

Hearing the doctor praise me, and I couldn't help grinning, as I rarely get praised before, though I wondered if I, a spirit, could blush.

When my mother heard that it was an 18-year-old girl who saved her precious son, she thought of me and bitterly remarked, "My eldest daughter is also 18 but doesn't even care to visit her sick brother. You don't realize what you have until you see what others lack. She's just an ungrateful child, a waste of our upbringing."

See, my mother called me an ungrateful child.

I knew she didn't like me.

2

My parents brought my brother home.

Though still pale and thin after his illness, he now had a spark of vitality and hope.

After my brother was diagnosed with a heart condition, the doctor had said that without a transplant, he wouldn't live past twenty.

So, from a young age, he lived with the expectation of death, without any hope for life.

But now, things were different. With a successful surgery, as long as he avoided strenuous activities, he could live well past sixty.

After the surgery, I once floated to my brother's side, bending down to listen to his heartbeat, wondering if it was strong and vigorous.

But I forgot. I was just a spirit and couldn't touch him.

Still, I was confident that my heart was healthy.

My mother took time off work to care for my brother.

During this time, she received a call from the police station.

The person on the other end said I had been in a car accident.

But as soon as my mother heard the beginning, she impatiently hung up. "Why are there so many scammers these days, calling so many times? It's annoying."

She then blocked the number.

Floating beside my mother, I couldn't help but wonder if she would cry if she knew I was dead.

After blocking the call, she busied herself making soup for my brother.

I floated over to take a look.

Wow! Ginseng, a prized herbal root!

Too bad I never got to taste it in my lifetime.

My mother carried the soup into my brother's room, gently waking him up.

I watched my brother with envy.

In my eighteen years, my mother never allowed me to eat in my bedroom.

She said the bedroom was for resting and studying, not for eating.

And I never tasted soup made by her.

Because my brother was frail, if I ate more, he would have less.

Besides, I was healthy and didn't need supplements.

My parents' time was never mine.

They needed to work to support the family, care for my brother, and maintain social relationships.

All I needed was to be sensible.

After I die, the happiest thing for me would be that I wouldn't have to suffer from hunger or be scolded.

3

In their spare time, my parents had to care for my brother.

Life was full of disappointments, especially for adults. Pride was useless in modern times, and most people would compromise for money.

But after enduring so much, there was always a need to vent.

I was my parents' outlet.

So whenever they were frustrated at work or stressed about my brother's medical bills, as soon as I appeared at home, no matter where, they would find an excuse to scold me, or worse, hit me and deny me meals.

It was precisely because of this that, at the start of each school term, tuition and living expenses weighed on me like mountains.

Even the money I earned from part-time jobs during winter and summer breaks was not enough.

I had to ask my parents for money.

They would sit on the couch, ignoring my requests, happily discussing TV shows or my brother's health.

Only when they ran out of things to say would they turn to me.

"How much?" my father would ask with disdain.

"Three thousand dollars. A thousand for tuition, and two thousand for living expenses for the semester." Fearing they would think the tuition was too high, I quickly explained.

Two thousand for a semester's living expenses meant a few hundred a month.

My classmates' monthly allowance was equivalent to my entire semester's.

They talked about celebrities, fashion brands, and food every day, but I was different.

I knew which cafeteria window had the cheapest meals and how to buy food online at the best price. I had no choice.

Even so, when my father heard I needed money, he crossed his arms and leaned back on the couch.

"We have no money. All you do is ask for money. Do you even see us as your parents? You just see us as a tool to make money, right? When will you understand our struggles? We worked tirelessly every day. You need two thousand for a semester? How can you spend so much?"

I lowered my head, letting them scold me.

I knew that arguing or explaining would be seen as talking back and rebellious, which would do me no good.

It was not until they had criticized me for a long time that my father took out two thousand dollars as alms. "The remaining thousand, I'll give you later."

"Thank you, Mom and Dad," I said numbly, taking the money.

I was grateful I had earned some money during the break by handing out flyers and doing odd jobs because my father's promise of giving me more later never materialized.

Remembering the days of eating simple food, I felt melancholic.

But it was fine at this moment. I was dead and didn't have to face these hardships anymore.

4

When bored, I could haunt my parents with a chill, which was much more fun than when I was alive.

For some reason, after I died, my spirit could only follow my parents.

They said that if a child died before their parents, their spirit must follow them until the parents passed away.

I felt deflated.

Oh no! In that case, I had to follow my parents for decades.

Just thinking about it felt unbearable.

Watching my mother bustling around early in the morning, I suddenly remembered that today was my brother's birthday.

My thoughts drifted back to the past.

I hadn't celebrated my birthday for a long time.

Before my brother was born, I was the cherished one in the family.

My grandfather passed away early, and my grandmother wasn't the type to favor boys over girls.

Every year on my birthday, she would come from her hometown, bringing a bunch of fruits she picked at home, including watermelons, peaches, and tart wild cherries.

The whole family would gather around me, buying me a cream cake.

Back then, my parents had endless patience with me.

But after my brother was born, being a boy with a congenital heart defect, he required constant care.

So my parents' attention shifted entirely to him.

At first, my mother would repeatedly tell me that as the older sister, I needed to protect my brother.

Later, it became that as the older sister, I should give in to him.

So no matter what my brother did, I had to give in to him.

Even if I wasn't at fault, I had to bear the consequences.

5

When my brother broke a bowl, my mother would hold his hand, carefully checking for injuries, then gently move him away to avoid the shards.

But when she turned to me, her face twisted with anger. "Didn't you see your brother break the bowl? Why didn't you catch it earlier?"

Then she'd kick me hard, ordering me to clean up the mess.

However, my mom didn't realize that the bowl my brother had was filled with the medicine she had just prepared. It was scalding hot.

Wisps of steam rose continuously from the surface, a testament to its temperature.

My mom should have known how scalding hot freshly prepared medicine was.

She knew it but she hadn't paid attention.

She wouldn't admit that it was her oversight that caused my brother to drop the bowl because it was too hot.

The medicine, which had taken hours to prepare, spilled onto the floor.

My mom was angry, but she wouldn't take it out on my brother.

Instead, she vented her frustration on me.

And when I accidentally cut my hand while cleaning up the shards, my mom would frown at me, blaming me for being careless and useless.

However, I was also their daughter.

I began to realize that my parents didn't love me when I was about ten years old.

There was a tradition in our hometown that a child's tenth birthday should be celebrated with a feast, no matter how poor the family was.

It symbolized the family's hopes and dreams for their child's future.

So, I thought that even though my parents were always busy taking care of my brother, they must love me too.

After attending the tenth birthday feast of our neighbor's daughter, I started counting how long it would be until my tenth birthday.

I imagined the scene where everyone would gather around, and my would bring out a cake for me.

Just thinking about it made me too excited to sleep.

But on my tenth birthday, the house was quiet and empty.

I put on my best clothes, ones I usually couldn't bear to wear, and dressed up beautifully.

I sat on the sofa, eagerly waiting for the guests to arrive.

But no one came home until late.

I approached my mom, who was giving my brother his stomach medicine, and asked why the guests hadn't arrived.

My mom impatiently pushed me away. "What guests?" she asked.

I looked at her expressionless face and my voice grew smaller.

"The guests for my tenth birthday," I said.

Hearing this, my mom slammed the medicine bowl on the table and tapped my forehead. "You ungrateful brat, your brother is sick and costs so much money. Where do we have the spare money to throw you a party? You're so young, yet you already know how to trouble us."

Then, she looked me up and down. "What are you wearing? It's so ugly. How long have you had these clothes? Still wearing them. People might think we're neglecting you."

I touched my forehead, red from her tap, feeling wronged. "But Mom, this is my newest outfit."

Hearing this, my mom seemed to finally take a serious look at me.

She skeptically went to my room and opened my wardrobe.

It was filled with clothes that either the neighbor's daughter couldn't wear or hand-me-downs from my cousin.

What I was wearing seemed to be the best of them all.

6

My mom seemed to realize her neglect towards me and, for the first time, took me to a cake shop.

Her hand felt comforting and gentle.

Even though she was holding my brother with her left hand and only held mine for a short while, I was so happy I didn't want to let go.

My mom picked out a small strawberry cake for me, saying my brother liked that flavor.

Although I didn't like strawberry flavor, I wanted to make her happy.

Every cake in the display was so beautiful, and the glass reflected my face, my eyes shining brightly.

But that day, I still didn't get to eat the strawberry cake.

My brother suddenly felt unwell, and my mom rushed him to the hospital, leaving me behind at the cake shop.

I sat at the cake shop's entrance, waiting for my mom. She should have come to pick me up, after all, it was my tenth birthday.

But as the sun set and the shop owner was about to close, my mom still hadn't come.

A whirlwind of emotions, including hurt, disappointment, and resignation, filled my heart.

I reluctantly came to terms with my mom's neglect towards me.

As the owner was about to close the shop, I took out some crumpled bills from my pocket, ran inside, and handed them to her, asking for the cheapest cake.

The owner sighed, looking at me with sympathy.

I had grown accustomed to that look whenever my mom left me behind.

The owner took the bills and picked a small matcha cake from the display.

"I noticed you've been eyeing the matcha one," she said.

I looked at her in surprise, and felt that she knew how to do business and even noticed what taste I liked.

After handing me the cake, she patted my head and wished me a happy birthday and all the best.

That was the only birthday wish I heard on my tenth birthday.

7

Later, I took the cake home.

Around six in the evening, warm lights spilled from every house, creating a cozy and happy atmosphere.

I carefully climbed to the fifth floor, checking the cake in my arms.

Thankfully, it was still intact.

But when I knocked on the door for a long time, no one answered.

Could it be that my parents hadn't returned yet?

Had my dad also forgotten my birthday?

I sat at the door, placing the cake in front of me, clasped my hands together, and made a wish.

It didn't matter if my parents forgot my birthday, I remembered.

I wished for my family's well-being and for my brother to get better, hoping it might bring me some attention.

I didn't intend to say that last part aloud. It was my selfish wish.

Without candles, I still blew as if there were, maintaining the ritual.

My birthday was complete in its own way.

I waited at the door for a long time, but my parents didn't return.

In the late autumn, the cold wind swept through the corridor.

I pulled my clothes tighter, trying to curl up and escape the chill.

Suddenly, the door opened from the inside.

I was surprised and confused.

If my parents were home, why didn't they open the door for me?

My mom looked at me sitting at the door and was angry. "I'm the one who washes your clothes, so what are you doing sitting at the door? Come in quickly!"

Her sudden outburst left me stunned, and I dumbly carried the cake inside.

Seeing me, my dad, who was sitting on the sofa with a newspaper, didn't even look up and said, "Where have you been fooling around? You haven't been home for so long, do we owe you anything?"

"Mom took me to buy a cake, but she left. I thought I should wait for her there," I tried to explain.

Before I could finish, my mom, who was in the kitchen, didn't even bother to wipe the soap suds from her hands before coming over to twist my ear. "Did I tell you to wait there? You little brat, always blaming me. What can I do if your brother is sick?"

But wasn't my brother always sick?

"Today is my birthday," I said softly, looking down at my worn-out shoes.

Hearing me mention my birthday again, my mom erupted in anger, wagging her finger at me as she scolded me.

She said she couldn't understand how I could be so vain at just ten years old. "How can you be so heartless? Your brother is unwell, and all you care about is your cake."

Suddenly noticing the cake in my hand, she seemed to want to assert her authority as a parent.

She grabbed the cake from my hands and tossed it into the trash.

The cake fell out, the cream and matcha powder mixing into a mess.

After that, I never had cake again.

8

Before my grandma passed away, she ensured I had warm meals, a small comfort in my otherwise neglected life.

She knew my parents were busy taking care of my brother, so she left the land she had tended for decades and came to the city with just a small bag.

The day my grandma arrived home, I was so hungry that I rummaged through the kitchen for any leftover food.

It was during the summer vacation.

My parents, worried I might wander off, decided to lock me inside the house.

My dad was on a business trip, and my mom was busy with work and taking care of my brother in the hospital.

Each thought the other would look after me, their 8-year-old eldest daughter.

But neither did.

The fridge had nothing for me except wilted greens and a bag of rice.

I followed what I had seen on TV, cooking food.

Even though the food tasted terrible, I was content just to fill my stomach.

But soon, the power and water were cut off.

I guessed my parents had forgotten to pay the bills.

In the sweltering heat, I lay on the bed, unwilling to move.

One day, I suddenly felt dizzy and fainted on the floor.

When I woke up, it was already evening.

I opened the window, and a cool breeze blew in, dispersing the heat in the house.

I wanted to cry.

But crying was useless. No one would wipe my tears.

Later, without electricity, I couldn't cook.

When hunger became unbearable, I drank water, gulping down several glasses.

But it didn't help.

My stomach hurt even more.

So, I dug out the leftover food from last time, which had spoiled in the heat.

Fermented foods tasted terrible. It was a sticky, mushy mess, emitting a sour stench, like someone had vomited it out.

But I was too hungry.

Pinching my nose with my left hand, I shoved it into my mouth in a few bites and washed it down with water.

Only then did my stomach feel a bit better.

I must have a stomach of steel to eat like this and still be okay.

No wonder my mom always said I stole my brother's luck.

When my grandma arrived, it was already evening.

I heard the sound of the lock turning, like the arrival of a savior.

Thinking my parents had remembered me, I ran barefoot to the door to wait.

Seeing my grandma come in, I was surprised. "Grandma, why are you here?"

My grandma looked at my dirty appearance with some distress. "Corynn, why are you barefoot?"

My grandma held my hand, seemingly smelling the odor on me, and asked how many days it had been since I bathed.

I scratched my head, embarrassed.

The water had been off for about three days, and I had only managed to wipe my face with the water from the tank.

In the heat of summer, my body was already covered in a heavy sweat odor.

"Grandma, the water and electricity are out. I have no water to bathe."

My grandma was angry upon hearing this. "Where are your parents? Why are you the only one at home?"

"I don't know. Dad said he was on a business trip, and Mom hasn't come home. She must be taking care of my brother."

Before my grandma could speak, my stomach growled loudly.

Like elders who believe in the importance of a full meal for strength, my grandma believed I needed to eat well to have the strength to do anything.

So she took out the vegetables she brought in her basket and went to pay the electricity and water bills.

She hurried back to cook for me.

She made me steak and vegetables. All my favorites.

That day, I ate a lot. I swore it was the best meal I had ever had.

It was true!

The steak was flavorful and tender, with a bit of spice that wasn't overwhelming, and the savory aroma filled the air.

The meat was delicious.

Even the radish was sweet and soft.

Seeing me eat like I hadn't eaten in days, my grandma couldn't hold back her tears.

She hugged my shoulders, unable to stop scolding my irresponsible parents. "Those heartless people, only caring about the younger child, not even knowing if the older one is dead. My poor, neglected child."

I was so full that the food was almost up to my throat.

Moving felt like it would kill me.

But I still shuffled over to the sofa, grabbed some tissues, and wiped my grandma's tears.

"Grandma, don't cry. I'm not suffering. Aren't you here to keep me company?" I said, raising a happy smile.

9

But later, my grandma passed away.

Perhaps a child who was loved could act spoiled.

I clung to my grandma, saying I wanted to eat her homemade buns. Seeing there weren't enough ingredients at home, she went to the market.

On her way back, she was hit by an out-of-control car and thrown several miles.

She was still holding the small bread she bought for me.

At my grandma's funeral, I knelt numbly beside her.

My father, who had just rushed back from another place, kicked me as soon as he entered the door. "You little bastard, if your grandma hadn't taken care of you, how could she have died?"

Abia Powell from next door couldn't stand it. She stopped my furious dad, standing in front of me with her hands on her hips.

"How could you do that? How could you only blame Corynn? If you didn't only care about your son, would her grandma have come to the city to take care of her? In the height of summer, on the fifth floor, do you two adults not understand how hot it gets after a day of sun? Locking her in the house with no power or water, if it weren't for her grandma, who knows where Corynn would be now?"

My dad's raised hand paused, awkwardly retracting it.

But he didn't want to admit their negligence, stubbornly confronting Abia.

"Anyway, her grandma died because of her. She's bad luck, first for her brother, and now for her grandma. Why doesn't she just jinx herself?"

After saying that, my dad pushed me away, not allowing me to kneel in front of my grandma's grave.

He said my grandma must hate me.

I thought he was true.

10

After two months of recovery, my brother's health improved rapidly, and he could live like a normal person.

My mom was ready to let him return to school.

She worried that being away from peers would affect his social skills.

Parents always had their children's best interests at heart.

My mom's care for my brother, both physically and mentally, was top-notch.

I floated in the air, watching my mom meticulously organize things for my brother, pouting.

My brother and I attended the same school, but my mom never took me to school.

I started boarding in middle school, always dragging my luggage to school alone at the start of each term.

My roommate's parent would praise my independence, then turn to scold their daughter lovingly. "Learn from Corynn. She packs her things herself every term. Look at you, so grown up, yet I still have to clean your shoes."

My roommate would stick out her tongue at her mom's nagging, then hug her mom's arm and act spoiled. "Mom, you're the best mom ever. I just can't clean my shoes properly."

Whenever I saw such scenes, my eyes felt like they were pricked by the wind, unbearably sore.

Their faces gradually turned into my mom and my brother.

My thoughts drifted back to the present.

"You must be Thea's roommate. Well, I'm Thea's mom. Nice to meet you. Thea hasn't been to school for a while due to surgery. Here, kids, this is something I made. Please try some. I made extra."

My mom busied herself giving things to my brother's roommates, hoping they would take good care of him.

At that moment, she was gentle and kind, patient and close to my brother's classmates.

But why was she never like this with me?

I was a bit angry.

I drifted over and blew a cold gust of air.

Instantly, everyone in the dorm shivered simultaneously, puzzled by the strange gust of cold wind.

I grinned, feeling a bit triumphant in my mischief.

After arranging everything for my brother, my mom left the dorm.

Walking through the school, and seeing the vibrant young boys and girls, my mom seemed to suddenly remember something.

I, her elder daughter, also attended this school.