“Oh, are you Laasya’s sister?” 

This is the inevitable question that most of my teachers have asked, one that truly vexed my childhood. 

As early as age 3, before I even attended Valley Ranch Elementary School, my sister’s kindergarten teacher would refer to me as “Laasya’s little sister,” though I really didn’t mind at the time. Once I entered kindergarten and had the same teacher as my sister, most of our conversations revolved around my sister and her childhood antics. 

One elementary teacher, whom I had for two consecutive years, never – not once – called me by my name. She rather liked referring to me as “Laasya’s little sister.” I truly doubt she had an inkling of what my name really was. 

I say “was” because when I moved to Mockingbird Elementary School, I decided to go by my first name, Sri, rather than my middle name: Kruthi. However, this experience was short-lived, for once I entered middle school, I was again referred to as “Laasya’s sister.” 

What annoyed me the most was when teachers would assume my abilities based on what my sister had done. I was forced into “being good” at math, liking reading or even something as eccentric as having great handwriting (an actual award my sister won back in grade school). I was constantly overshadowed by the near-perfect legacy my sister had left behind, with no room to grow into my own person.

This, however, did have its perks as my sister had the favor of most of her teachers, who also decided that I too was the smart little girl my sister was. 

One of my middle school teachers was overcome with joy after finding out that my sister was Laasya. The Achanta last name had just rung a bell for them. Because they liked my sister so much, they would sometimes give me bonus points that, in my opinion, I did not truly deserve, solely because they thought I got it right like my sister had. 

Maybe these perks were what changed my ideology, I’m not really sure. 

Or maybe it was my maturing over the years that helped me realize that I was the product of my sister’s triumphs and tears. The path she strove to create, the hiccups in life she faltered over, all to break down the barriers for me to frolic along afterward.  

I started to like being referred to as “Laasya’s little sister.” It was a kind of memento, reminding me that my sister had made her mark, and I was reaping the benefits of her love, effort and passion. 

So yes, as cliche as this may sound, and as disgruntled as I am to admit, I am thankful for you, Laasya.

I am thankful for the heartwarming words you wrote about me in your college essay that you didn’t know I read. I am thankful for seeing you cry alongside me while I cried after getting in trouble. I am thankful for the time you made fun of me because a bird pooped on my head. I am thankful for your presence, one that will never be forgotten. I am thankful for you watching PBS Kids with me even as a young adult.

And as D.W. said, in our favorite show “Arthur,” thank you for not making me the “lonely child” I would never want to be.

Follow Sri (@sriachanta_) and @CHSCampusNews on Twitter.