Chapter One: Strong Like a Man, But Still a Boy
I grew up in a village where poor people live - people like me. But even though we didn't have much, the place had its own kind of beauty. Dusty roads, small houses, kids playing with bottle caps, and neighbors who struggled the same way we did. Life wasn't easy, but it was life.
I was raised by a single mother. A strong woman who did everything she could for me and my three brothers. We never had a father in the house. He was just a name, a shadow we didn't know. So I learned early that I had to be more. I had to be strong - strong like a man, even though I was just a boy.
Every day was a challenge. We didn't always have food. Sometimes we wore the same clothes again and again. School was hard - not just the lessons, but the walk, the hunger, the pressure of pretending everything was fine when it wasn't.
There were bad moments. Days when I felt broken inside. Days I cried where no one could see me. But I didn't let it stop me. I didn't have time to be weak. Poverty teaches you to fight, or you fall. And I wasn't ready to fall.
Chapter Two: What They Didn't Know
There were days I'd sit and watch other people laugh like life never hurt them. Their clothes clean. Their lunchboxes full. Their hearts light. I used to wonder what it felt like to live without worry - to wake up and just be a kid.
But I wasn't just a kid. I was a boy carrying things too heavy for his age. Things most people couldn't see. Poverty. Pressure. Pain I never asked for. I smiled sometimes, but inside I was tired. I was drowning in silence.
There were times I wanted to give up. Not because I was weak, but because it felt like the world had given up on me first. Some nights I couldn't sleep. Some mornings I didn't even want to wake up. But something always pulled me back.
People don't know this, but a few souls saved me. Close friends who saw past the mask and stayed close anyway. A girlfriend who looked at me, not at my situation, and still chose me. She didn't need riches to love me. Just my presence was enough.
And my brothers - even when they weren't around - they were fighting too. Busy trying to fix things in their own way, trying to make life better. It wasn't easy for them either. We were all in the same storm, just in different boats.
My mother? She was out there too, working hard, sacrificing herself for us. She never said it, but I could see the weight she carried in her eyes. She didn't rest. She didn't break. She just kept going - and because she kept going, so did I.
People thought I was quiet. They didn't know I was just tired. Tired of pretending. Tired of holding pain like it was mine to keep.
But even tired, I stood up every day. I
