You know those families where one kid is just… different? Like, the one who always gets the A+ without even trying, or the one who can somehow juggle three jobs, a social life, and still look like they just stepped out of a magazine? Well, imagine that, but cranked up to Olympic levels. That’s kind of what it was like growing up with Alysa.
My name’s Joshua Liu, and yeah, Alysa’s my older sister. And when I say older, I mean older in the sense that she was born first, and then the rest of us were just sort of… catching up. Especially when it came to the whole ice skating thing. You see, Alysa wasn't just good at skating. She was, and still is, an absolute phenomenon. Like, the kind of phenomenon that makes you wonder if maybe your parents accidentally adopted a super-powered alien and just never told you.
I remember being a little tyke, probably still figuring out how to tie my shoelaces without creating a Gordian knot, and Alysa was already out there, twirling and leaping like she was born with blades on her feet. For me, just standing up on skates felt like trying to walk on a greased watermelon. I’d flail around, arms windmilling like a distressed pigeon, while she was gracefully carving through the ice, looking like a friggin' figure skating swan. A very determined, medal-winning swan.
It’s a funny thing, having a sibling who’s famous. It’s not like she was on TV every night, singing pop songs or starring in some blockbuster movie. But in the figure skating world? She was the name. So, whenever anyone found out who my sister was, their eyes would light up like they'd just discovered the secret to sliced bread. "Alysa Liu? No way! The Olympian?!" And then they'd look at me, probably expecting me to have some sort of Olympic glow about me too.
Reality check: I barely qualified for the school kickball team. My "sporting achievements" mostly involved surviving P.E. class without breaking anything. So, I’d usually just shrug and say, "Yeah, that’s my sister." Sometimes, I’d feel a little bit like that side character in a superhero movie, you know? The one who’s just there to make the hero look even more awesome. I was the guy who knew the Olympian before she was the Olympian. Which, I guess, is a thing?
The house was… interesting. It wasn’t filled with gold medals lying around like cheap trinkets, although there were a few strategically placed for display. It was more about the energy. The early mornings. The endless practice sessions. The smell of skate wax and… well, probably a lot of sweat. Our parents were basically professional chauffeurs and cheerleaders rolled into one. They sacrificed a ton for Alysa’s dream, and you could feel that dedication permeating everything. It was like the air in our house was infused with ambition, and a healthy dose of frozen air.
The "Normal" Childhood? Not Exactly.
When I think back to my own childhood, it feels like a fuzzy dream compared to the laser focus Alysa had. While I was busy building elaborate Lego castles that would inevitably crumble, Alysa was probably perfecting a triple axel in her head. While I was agonizing over which flavour of Kool-Aid to pick, she was strategizing about her next competition. It was like we were on different planets, even though we were sharing the same dinner table.
I remember one time, I must have been about ten, and I was really excited about my school play. I had a big role – I was a tree. A very important, stationary tree. I’d practiced my lines (which mostly involved rustling my leaves, metaphorically speaking) and was ready for my moment of glory. Meanwhile, Alysa was in the middle of some intense training for a national competition. Our parents were torn, of course. But you could see the faint shimmer of Olympic dreams in their eyes, and my tree costume, as majestic as it was, couldn't quite compete with the allure of the podium.
So, I ended up performing my solo leaf-rustling monologue to an audience of my grandma and a very confused family dog. It was… memorable. Alysa, on the other hand, was probably landing jumps that defied gravity. My tree career was cut short, but hey, at least I learned the importance of a good root system. Or something.
It’s not that she was ever mean or dismissive. Not at all! Alysa was, and is, incredibly kind. She just had this… drive. This almost otherworldly focus that us mere mortals could only observe with a mixture of awe and mild bewilderment. Imagine trying to have a casual chat about video games with someone who’s mentally rehearsing a flawless quad jump. It’s like trying to explain quantum physics to a hamster. They’re just on a different wavelength.
And the travel! Oh, the travel. While my vacations usually involved a trip to the local park or maybe a slightly more ambitious visit to the next town over, Alysa was jetting off to different countries. I’d be stuck at home, playing with my action figures, and she’d be sending postcards from Paris or Tokyo. It was like living with a real-life globetrotter, except her primary mode of transport was an airplane, and her luggage was probably filled with sequins and more ice skates than any one person reasonably needs.
Sometimes, I’d get to tag along. Those were the best times. I’d get to see her compete, and it was like watching a miniature supernova explode on the ice. The crowds would roar, the lights would shine, and she’d just… do her thing. It was so intense, so captivating. I’d feel this surge of pride, this crazy feeling of "Yeah, that’s my sister!" even though I was mostly just trying not to get lost in the sea of adoring fans.
But even then, there were funny moments. Like trying to navigate a hotel lobby full of skaters, all looking incredibly athletic and focused, while I was probably in my pyjamas, clutching a bag of chips. I definitely felt like the odd one out, the civilian amidst the elite. I was the guy who was just there for the free continental breakfast, while everyone else was discussing their training regimens.
The "Little Brother" Perks (and Perils)
Being the younger sibling of an Olympic champion definitely had its perks. For one, people were always interested. You’d go to a party, and someone would inevitably ask, "Are you Alysa Liu's brother?" And then, like magic, you’d have something to talk about. It was like a built-in icebreaker. Though, sometimes, I’d wish people were interested in my own, albeit less sparkly, accomplishments. Like, "Oh, you’re Joshua Liu? The guy who once successfully assembled an IKEA bookshelf without crying?" That’s the kind of recognition I craved.
There was also the occasional, "Can you get me an autograph?" or "Can you introduce me to Alysa?" which I’d usually have to politely decline, as I wasn't exactly her personal agent. I was more like her resident "guy who knows where the good snacks are kept" or "guy who can reach the high shelves." Essential roles, in their own way.
And then there were the moments of mild terror. When Alysa would practice a particularly dangerous-looking jump in the backyard (yes, sometimes training spilled over into our suburban haven, much to the chagrin of our neighbours), I’d instinctively shield my eyes. It was like watching a tightrope walker perform without a net. You know they’re probably going to nail it, but a tiny part of you still expects the worst. I was the designated worrier, the official "oh no, is she okay?" guy.
Growing up with Alysa was never dull. It was a constant reminder that some people are just built differently, with a fire in their belly that burns brighter than most. It taught me about dedication, about sacrifice, and about the sheer joy of pursuing something you truly love, even if that something involves defying gravity on a sheet of ice.
While I was busy mastering the art of the video game high score, Alysa was mastering the art of the triple Lutz. While I was figuring out how to navigate social studies, she was navigating the complex world of competitive figure skating. We were on parallel tracks, her leading the charge, me… well, I was definitely on the ride. And it was a wild, exhilarating, and surprisingly heartwarming ride, watching my sister chase her Olympic dream. It’s a story I’ll always be happy to tell, because at the end of the day, no matter how many medals she wins or how high she jumps, she’s still just my sister. The one who might occasionally steal my favourite hoodie, but also the one who taught me what it means to truly soar.
And sometimes, when I’m watching figure skating on TV, and I see a skater pull off a particularly impressive move, I can’t help but smile and think, "Yeah, she learned that from my sister. Probably." Or maybe that’s just me, the younger brother, trying to claim a tiny piece of her Olympic glory. Either way, it’s a good story. A story about family, about dreams, and about the everyday magic that happens when someone decides to reach for the stars, one perfect landing at a time.
