Waking up every day with a different kind of thought swirling in your head… sounds crazy, right?
Well, that's me. I'm Amelia — the first daughter and first child of fifteen kids. Yeah, you heard that right. Fifteen. You can say it loud; the population is wide, I know. But that's what happens when a couple can't keep their sexual orientation in check.
Oh — before I forget — I come from a poor family. Poor enough that eating three square meals a day is like winning the lottery. Somehow, though, I still managed to squeeze myself into a private school, all thanks to the endless side hustles I take on after classes. I had this dream, once — to be a medical doctor.
But somewhere along the way, college changed everything.
Anyway, let's get into the story.
⸻
The alarm blared like it was announcing the end of the world.
"Ughhh," I groaned, rolling over, my body feeling like it was stitched out of bricks. "Why can't the universe just give me a few more hours to sleep?"
"That's because you're too lazy," a voice answered sharply.
I nearly fell off my mattress. "Oh gosh, Mom! You scared me! When did you get in here?"
"While you were busy complaining about the universe instead of preparing for your day," she said, arms folded across her chest, the classic mom stance.
"Mom, can't I just skip today? I'm tired — mentally, physically, emotionally… spiritually." I buried my face into the pillow for dramatic effect.
"You can't even skip an hour," she replied without missing a beat. "Now get up, wash your face, and get ready for school and work."
Dragging myself out of bed felt like dragging a corpse. I shuffled to the bathroom, washed up quickly, and threw on the same old uniform I had stitched and re-stitched a hundred times.
By the time I was ready, the house was already in full chaos — kids crying, Mom yelling, pots clanging. Just another Tuesday.
I grabbed my worn-out backpack, stuffed yesterday's homework inside, and raced out the door, skipping breakfast as usual.
The streets were alive with the usual noise — the vendors setting up their stalls, old men arguing over the morning news, little kids running barefoot after each other.
I slipped through the narrow alleys, past the crumbling houses, past the neighborhood I had memorized like the back of my hand.
The school gates came into view, tall and chipped and slightly leaning to one side like they, too, were tired of standing.
I paused for a second, catching my breath, clutching the strap of my bag tighter. Another day of pretending I was just like everyone else. Another day of hiding the hundred struggles stitched into my skin.
I took a deep breath, fixed a small, fake smile on my face, and stepped through the gate.
Here we go again.
The moment I stepped through the gate, the noise hit me like a brick wall — students shouting, sneakers slapping against the concrete, teachers barking out orders like army generals.
It was chaos. It was life. It was… routine.
I weaved my way through the crowd, my head bowed low, my hands clutching the frayed strap of my bag. I wasn't exactly invisible, but in a school full of shiny shoes and brand-name backpacks, a girl like me knew better than to stand out.
Blending in was a survival skill I had perfected over the years.
"Amelia!" a voice called out.
I turned to see Leah, my only real friend in this mess of a place, waving from the entrance to the school building.
She was grinning — a wide, gap-toothed smile that made her look half-innocent and half-troublemaker.
"You're late again," she said as I caught up to her.
"Don't start," I muttered, adjusting my backpack. "I fought the universe this morning and lost."
She laughed, looping her arm through mine like we were some kind of rich girls strolling into a private academy instead of two broke souls just trying to survive the day.
"Come on," she said, tugging me toward the stairs. "Mrs. Hartman is already on a warpath. If we don't get to class now, she might actually eat us alive."
"Wouldn't be the worst thing to happen," I said dryly. "At least I'd get a proper meal."
We hurried up the steps, our shoes squeaking against the polished floors.
As we passed by the trophy cases, I caught my reflection — wrinkled uniform, tired eyes, hair that refused to stay in a neat bun.
A part of me wanted to turn away. Another part of me wanted to scream at the glass.
This isn't me. This isn't who I'm supposed to be.
But life didn't care about what I wanted.
⸻
When we slid into our seats at the back of the classroom, Mrs. Hartman shot us a glare that could melt steel.
"Nice of you to finally join us, Miss Amelia and Miss Leah," she said, her voice dripping with sarcasm.
"Sorry, ma'am," we chorused, heads bowed, trying to hide our smirks.
The lesson blurred into the background, but this time, I forced myself to stay present.
I had a goal — one bigger than the hunger gnawing at my stomach or the exhaustion weighing down my eyelids.
Becoming a doctor wasn't just a dream anymore; it was my survival plan.
A ticket out of poverty.
A way to rewrite the story life had handed me.
As Mrs. Hartman scribbled equations on the board, I bent over my notebook, copying every word, every symbol, every number like my life depended on it. Because it did.
Maybe the others in this room could afford to slack off, to waste time.
I couldn't.
"One day," I whispered under my breath, pressing the words into the paper like a prayer. "One day, I'm going to make it."
Leah nudged me with her elbow.
"You okay?" she whispered.
I smiled faintly. "Yeah. Just… thinking about the future."
She rolled her eyes playfully. "Nerd."
Maybe I was.
Maybe dreaming this big when everything around me was falling apart made me the biggest fool of all.
But if being foolish meant giving myself a chance — even the smallest one — I would cling to it with everything I had.
Because I wasn't born to just survive.
I was born to become something more.