The Extra

We’ve all heard of the heir and the spare. But allow me to introduce a third, highly elite category: The Extra.

This is the true story of a girl who spent her entire life under the impression that she was extra special, only to eventually realise she was just… a Phantom. And for the sake of setting the record straight, let’s just assume that "she" is me.

I entered the world as child number three. I wasn't the glorious firstborn, nor was I the heavily anticipated first son. I was the sequel nobody asked for. Despite this, I was a deeply dedicated tag-along. For my first eighteen years, I was glued to my parents like a shadow. For the next four years, I was their loyal weekend visitor.

During those initial eighteen years, my summers weren't spent relaxing. They were spent in our ancestral village meeting a small army of relatives and exactly zero TV time. Our primary source of entertainment? Endless, gruelling pilgrimage trips to visit roughly ten thousand temples. I was there for every single hot, dusty mile. I paid my dues!

And then, next 25 years my appearances reduce to a swift, once-a-year cameo due to LIFE (whatever adulting is).

The first glitch in the matrix happened two years ago at the village festival. People either looked right through me or confidently greeted me as my cousin. No big deal, I thought. Twenty-five years is a long time. I politely reintroduced myself to the masses ,  with some I just accepted and re-acted like my cousin and went on my way.

Cut to recent visit, my siblings and I threw a massive party for my dad’s birthday. Right before the big event, I attended that exact same village festival. I was dealing with the literal same people I had spoken to just two years prior. Talk about short-term memory failure—and I thought my brain was foggy! Once again, nobody had the foggiest clue who I was or how I fit into the ecosystem.

As I began my second grand reintroduction tour, the vibe shifted. A few people gave me a look of pure, unadulterated suspicion. It was a look that clearly said: "Nice try, imposter, but your parents only have two kids." I was literally being gaslit about my own birth certificate.

Then came the actual birthday party. There I was, running around the stage, sweating, and looking incredibly busy while the "official" children of the house did their parts. The audience was profoundly baffled. Who was this random, overly enthusiastic stagehand?

Most people decided I must be my own niece. Now, look—being mistaken for someone a generation younger is a massive skincare victory, and I’ll take it. But the sting? They perfectly remembered my niece, who arrived a whopping seventeen years after me, yet I was a ghost. To make it funnier, the crowd collectively decided my son, Aa, belonged to the family, they just couldn't figure out which of my siblings had secretly spawned him.

The grand finale came in the post-event, thank-you messages started rolling in for my sister, congratulating her and my brother for the wonderful event. They even gave a lovely shoutout to G . As for the extra child? Crickets. To add insult to injury, someone even gifted the family two beautiful sets of handbags and wallets. Apparently, the budget for gift-givers didn't extend to the imaginary third sibling.

People love to say it’s a bliss to be invisible to your relatives. But honestly? I’m just annoyed at myself! I spent my entire life behaving myself, terrified that the society would judge me if I ever did anything remotely wild. To find out they don't even know my name, recognise my face, or have a slot for me on the family tree is a tragic waste of good behaviour.

Since my clean record bought me absolutely zero legacy points, I see only one path forward. It is time to plan a highly dramatic, thoroughly chaotic re-entry into society. Watch this space.