We Regret to Inform You….
It began early, in aisle 3 of Paragon’s Toys R Us. I was five, and my best friend had just brought the Limited Edition Sparkle Princess Barbie to school. The one with light-up shoes and a gown that changed color in water – social capital in plastic form. I wanted her. Badly.
But instead of the Barbie, I received a different kind of note — my first taste of rejection, signed with love by my parents.
Dear Brianna,
We regret to inform you that you will not be receiving the Limited Edition Sparkle Princess Barbie, your best friend brought to school today. We understand how deeply unfair this feels. We acknowledge the injustice you so passionately highlighted in your tantrum in aisle 3, silent protest at the dinner table, and the excessive use of the “but she has it” mantra on loop. Yes, having a doll with light-up shoes and a gown that transforms colors in water may feel like the key to winning the respect of your fellow 6-year-old classmates and finally climbing the social ladder of kindergarten. But your current collection, sprawled across our living room floor, is far more than enough, and it, too, is a source of envy for someone else.
One day, when you’re older, you'll realize that this wasn’t about Barbie. Not really.
Love,
Mom and Dad
Back then, envy was simple. Tangible and plastic. It came with price tags and packaging and logic my six-year-old brain could grasp – if someone else had something, I must have more. But by eleven, rejection took on new shapes. It looked like my older sister’s closed bedroom door and the muffled laughter behind it.
Dear Brianna,
We regret to inform you that your application to hang out with me and my friends has been, once again, denied. Your recent attempts — borrowing my clothes without permission, copying my makeup routines (please stop using my mascara), and loitering outside my room every time you hear voices — were bold. But after a unanimous vote, you remain unqualified. It’s true, you’re no longer a baby. You’ve swapped princess pajamas for knockoff Converse. You’ve started giving Mom and Dad an attitude. But let’s not get ahead of ourselves. You see, while you desperately envy the inside jokes, late-night FaceTimes, and group selfies that never include you, there’s a cruel truth you must accept: You are, quite simply, not old enough yet. You want to wear my jeans. You want to be in the group chats. You want to be noticed — to walk into school like you belong. But your time has not yet come. Try again next year. Maybe.
Love,
Beya
This kind of envy was lonelier. Less about things and more about age – about warning to be older, cooler, and included. I didn’t just want what my sister had; I wanted to be her. To skip the awkward tween years and to understand the inside jokes I heard from outside her door. Eventually, the envy shifted again. It didn’t come from the voices of my family members, but through the glances that never landed my way.
Dear Brianna,
We regret to inform you that no suitable match has been made for you among our esteemed council. The volume of requests from male-validated seeking girls was overwhelming. Don’t be fooled, your valiant efforts to straighten your curls each morning and your attempts to master the art of curling your Asian eyelashes do not go unnoticed. But it is simply not enough. It’s not your fault, it appears you have not quite “grown into” your body yet. The council has decided to award this year’s accolades to those who have most visibly mastered the art of teenage boy appeal and Snapchat filters. Do not despair, however, as the rejection today does not preclude the chance of any future acceptance. We encourage you to reapply next year, by which time puberty could have swung in your favor. Who knows? By then, the current criteria of beauty may be outdone by an entirely new trend, and we might be seeking the parts of you that you work so hard to tame.
Love,
Middle School Boys
At some point, envy stopped being about what others had and became about what I wasn’t. I started editing myself — hair, clothes, the way I laughed — not to stand out, but to fit in. I didn’t want to be extraordinary. I just wanted to be seen. Each stage of my life came with its kind of rejection, but by seventeen, the letters were no longer imaginary. They came on digital letterhead, bearing the seal of the college I’d spent years dreaming about.
Dear Brianna,
After a thorough review of your application, we regret to inform you that we are unable to offer you admission to our university at this time. While your application was undoubtedly adequate, it appears that your level of remarkable just failed to reach our unprecedentedly ambiguous standards. Your application, featuring a mere national award and your quaint efforts to solve minor world issues, was charming. However, it lacked the exceptionality for other applicants who, for example, successfully lobbied to create their own countries just to qualify for a leadership award. One standout candidate even developed a new element for the periodic table. Compared to this, your A Research paper and hospital internship seemed rather underwhelming, despite the sleepless nights and summers spent in scrubs. As a university, we strive to cultivate a unique student body, one capable of inspiring not just admiration. It appears that your application, though robust in a traditional sense, failed to incite us. Please understand that this rejection does not reflect your potential to make significant life accomplishments, like becoming wealthy enough to donate a new wing to our campus. In the meantime, we encourage you to apply to other institutions with lower aspirations and more reasonable expectations.
Love,
Your Dream School
This time, envy was dressed in credentials. It sounded like SAT scores and Linkedin bios. It wore honor cords and published research and led protest marches after school. I wasn’t comparing toys anymore – I was comparing lives. And in that comparison, mine always came up short.
Dear Brianna,
I regret to inform you that after years of comparing yourself to others – their dolls, their age, their lives — you missed a few things.
At 5, you missed the way your own Barbie let you tell stories that felt like magic. The way her hair was stained the perfect shade of pink when your marker leaked. The way you tucked her into a shoebox bed lined with tissues, and cried when you were apart. You spent so much time envying the doll your parents wouldn't buy you, you forgot to cherish the ones you already had.
At 11, you spent your tween years begging to grow up quicker – to have curfews, to hang out with Beya’s cool friends, to put on makeup. But all you saw was a highlight reel. You didn’t see the breakouts, the anxiety, the tears. You just wanted to skip ahead. Now that you're standing at the edge of adulthood, ready to move out of your childhood home, you’d give anything to go back to your 11-year-old self.
At 14, you waged a war against yourself for not being enough. You straightened your curls, pinched your lashes, and wondered what was wrong because a boy looked at someone else instead of yours. You envied the girls who looked like they had it all figured out. But you’d soon find out that some random prepubescent 14-year-old boy does not define your worth.
At 17, just a couple of days ago, your life felt like it ended when you received your first-ever college rejection letter from the school you’ve had your eye on since you were seven. Comparing yourself to everyone you know who got accepted reduces all the sleepless nights, bloodshot eyes, and breakdowns to a simple “we regret to inform you.” It felt like it wasn’t enough compared to the others – like it was all for nothing. But it wasn’t. You knew who you were before that letter, and you are still that person now.
You missed so much while you were busy envying. You missed all the quiet memories hidden in everything you have. You spent so much time measuring yourself against everyone else that you forgot to notice and appreciate who you are.
As you step into the next chapter, packing up your life here in Singapore to move halfway across the world, remember that envy won’t give you what you are looking for – it only distracts you from everything that’s already enough.
With love and grace,
Brianna