I’m the sort of person that will help anyone, even if I get nothing in return. My parents think that I’m far to generous, I disagree. I don’t want acknowledgment though. I like staying quiet and introverted. I’m only around when I’m needed.

I’m a great student. Straight A’s and everything. I’m just one of those kids that doesn’t disrupt the class. I don’t participate but I sit silently and take in all the knowledge. I’m a brilliant listener.

I’ve recently started to break down the events in my life, trying to find out why I’m the way I am. Could my generosity be related to the way my parents neglect me? They ignore the fact that I give money to anyone performing on the street, the ridiculous amounts of clothes I donate to charity and they usually avoid me as a whole. I haven’t had a conversation with my dad that lasted more than a minute in two years. My mum only interacts with me is after her monthly shopping spree when she brings me new clothes. The majority go to the charity bins.  

By the time I was ten and old enough to mostly take care of myself, my parents buried themselves in work and their focus became money. Money, money, money. If I caught them talking about something else, I would always be extremely surprised. Maybe it was because of this that I felt it was my mission in life to ensure other people’s happiness.

I think it started with this one girl. I was being bullied, pressed into a corner and was informed about how annoying and useless I was and this girl stepped in and told the harassers off. I believe her exact words were: “You need to back off, all right? What did she ever do to you?” 

I tried to say thank you, she wouldn’t listen and just walked off. I don’t know her name, I haven’t seen her since. I don’t even know who she is but I do know she saved me from many years of future torture.

There was this one time, after I’d given a homeless man some money, my mum turned to my dad and said, “I’m sure it’s his death that’s made her this way.”

What was the cause? Was it my kindergarten friend that told me I was the luckiest person alive because my mum bought me clothes? Even then, my mum was so superficial that she thought the clothes and objects she bought defined who she was. I disagree. It’s the random acts of kindness that make us who we are. My acts aren’t random though, they are constant, at least one a day.

Maybe it was my obsession with having a cool older sister instead of my horrible brother. My brother, Archie, was eight years older than me and treated me worse than that bully did. He would tell me I was a moron, closely followed by a whack in the head.

I remember once, I picked a beautiful red flower for mum, she loved red. Before I got into the house, Archie ran and grabbed it from me before squahing it into the pavement. He was always doing mean things.

Archie was the golden child. Flawless, in my parent’s opinion. Any C on his report was ignored and the B’s were treated like a gold medal in the Olympics. What would happen if I came home with a B? “You idiot, why can’t you do better in school? Look at your brother, only brings home good reports!”

He died next to me. I watched his blood seep out of his body onto the pavement and heard the driver screaming into his phone, roaring as loud as a lion. He’d lost control on the slippery road and swerved onto the footpath.

On that cold, wintery day in the Blue Mountains my brother pushed me out of the way as this car came onto the pavement. I just watched. Archie was only with me because I asked.

Maybe it was my brother’s death that has made me this way. Maybe I felt so guilty that I was doomed to spend my life putting the life of others before my own. Maybe I never asked for anything because the last time I did that, I killed my brother.

Archie was so horrible to me. Always hit me, put me down, rubbed the favoritism he received into my face. I never really liked him and if I had the chance to bring him back from the dead right now, I don't think I would.

What sort of person does that make me?

Maybe Mum is right. I think it was Archie’s death that has made me this way.