How my dream were shattered

Chapter One: The Girl Who Once Dreamed Before pain became part of my life, I was a happy young girl who believed that the world was full of beautiful opportunities. I believed that hard work could take me anywhere, that education could change my life, and that one day I would grow up to become a successful woman who would make her family proud. I had dreams, big dreams that I carried in my heart even when nobody was around to listen to them. I was only twelve years old, but I already knew what I wanted to become. I wanted to be a doctor. I wanted to wear a white coat, work in a hospital, and help people who were sick. Whenever my teachers asked us to write about our future careers, I never struggled to find an answer. I would take my pen and write confidently about the woman I hoped to become. At that age, I believed that my future was something I could build with my own hands. I did not know that life could change so suddenly that the dreams I had worked so hard to protect could begin slipping away before I even understood what was happening. My childhood had not been perfect, but I had reasons to smile. I had schoolbooks to read, examinations to prepare for, and friends with whom I shared laughter. I enjoyed going to school because it gave me a sense of purpose. Whenever I entered the classroom, I felt as though I was one step closer to the future I wanted. I was one of the brightest learners in my grade. My report cards were usually filled with A+ grades, and my marks often ranged between ninety and ninety-eight percent. My teachers knew me as a hardworking learner who paid attention during lessons and completed her assignments on time. I rarely needed to be reminded to study because I understood the importance of education. Mathematics was one of my favourite subjects. I enjoyed solving difficult problems, and whenever my teacher wrote an equation on the board, I would eagerly try to find the answer. I loved the feeling of raising my hand and hearing my teacher say, "Correct!" Those moments made me feel proud of myself. English was another subject I enjoyed. I loved reading stories and writing compositions because they allowed me to imagine different worlds. Sometimes, when I read a book, I imagined myself as the main character, facing challenges and finding the courage to overcome them. I never imagined that one day my own life would become a story filled with pain. My classmates sometimes joked that I was the teacher's favourite because I always performed well. Some of them asked me to help them understand difficult questions, and I was always willing to explain whenever I could. I did not believe I was better than anyone else. I simply enjoyed learning. Whenever examination results were released, I would look at my marks with excitement. Seeing a high percentage reminded me that my hard work was paying off. I would imagine myself graduating from university one day, wearing a beautiful gown, while my family watched proudly from the audience. In my imagination, my father would stand up and clap for me. My mother would wipe tears of happiness from her eyes. I would walk toward them, smiling, knowing that I had finally achieved something wonderful. That was the future I wanted. I wanted to give my parents a reason to smile. I wanted them to know that their sacrifices had not been wasted. I wanted to build a life in which I could help my family and provide for the people I loved. Unfortunately, I did not understand that a child could achieve excellent marks and still need attention, affection, and protection. I thought that as long as I performed well at school, everything else would eventually fall into place. I was wrong. ### The Parents I Wanted to Make Proud My parents were hardworking people who spent much of their time trying to provide for our family. Both of them worked, and because of their responsibilities, they were often away from home for long periods. They usually returned home at the end of the month. I understood that life was expensive and that my parents had to work to ensure we had food, clothes, and school supplies. I appreciated the things they provided, and I never wanted to become a burden to them. However, there was something I wanted that neither money nor presents could replace. I wanted their presence. I wanted to spend time with them, tell them about my school day, and share the little things that made me happy. I wanted to sit beside my mother while she asked me about my friends. I wanted my father to listen when I spoke about my dreams. I wanted to feel that I mattered to them beyond my academic achievements. Whenever my mother came home, I would eagerly tell her about my marks. "Mama, I got ninety-six percent in Mathematics!" I once announced, holding my test paper proudly. She smiled as she looked at it. "That is wonderful, my child. Keep working hard. I know you can do even better." Her words made me happy. I would hug her, feeling as though I had accomplished something important. Sometimes, she would ask about my other subjects, and I would tell her how I had performed. She would encourage me to continue studying and remind me that education could open many doors. I loved those conversations because they made me feel that my efforts were being noticed. My father, however, was not someone I found easy to approach. He was a strict man who believed that children needed discipline. He expected us to respect adults, obey instructions, and avoid doing anything that might bring shame to the family. Whenever he was home, I tried to behave perfectly. I made sure my uniform was clean, my homework was completed, and my school reports showed excellent marks. I was afraid of disappointing him. Deep inside, I wanted him to notice me in a way that went beyond telling me to work hard. I wanted him to ask me what I enjoyed doing. I wanted him to sit beside me and listen to my stories. I wanted him to tell me that he believed in me. Most of all, I wanted to hear him say that he was proud of me. Sometimes, I imagined a conversation between us. "Daddy, when I grow up, I want to become a doctor," I would tell him. He would smile and ask, "Why do you want to become a doctor, my daughter?" "Because I want to help people. I want to make a difference in their lives." Then he would place his hand on my shoulder and say, "I believe you can do it." Those conversations never happened the way I imagined them. They remained dreams that I carried quietly in my heart. Still, I continued trying to make him proud. I thought that if I became successful enough, perhaps he would finally see me. I did not know that children should never have to earn their parents' love through perfect marks or good behaviour. I was simply a young girl who wanted to feel loved. ### The Sister I Stayed With Because both my parents worked, I spent much of my time with my sister. She was the person who was physically present in our daily lives, and I had grown accustomed to having her around. She helped manage the household and made sure that I attended school. She reminded me to complete my homework and sometimes asked whether I had prepared for my examinations. Although I appreciated having her around, she could not replace the presence of both parents. She had her own responsibilities, and there were times when I had to manage things on my own. I did not complain because I understood that everyone had their duties. Our parents believed that we were safe because we lived in a familiar neighbourhood. They knew the people who lived nearby and did not imagine that anything terrible could happen while they were away. Like many children, I believed that home and the surrounding neighbourhood were places where I could feel secure. I did not understand that danger could come from someone familiar. The man who lived next door was someone I had seen many times. He was much older than me, and I regarded him as an ordinary neighbour. When I passed him, I greeted him respectfully because that was how I had been taught to behave around adults. I never suspected that he would become connected to the most painful memories of my childhood. At that time, I was still concerned about ordinary things. I worried about examinations, unfinished homework, and whether I would maintain my position among the top learners in my class. Sometimes, I would sit with my books late into the afternoon, determined to understand every lesson. My sister would occasionally tell me to take a break. "You spend too much time studying," she would say. I would laugh. "I want to get good marks." "And what will you do with all those marks?" "I will become a doctor!" She would smile at my enthusiasm. "Then you must keep working hard." Whenever she encouraged me, I felt hopeful. I imagined that one day, when I had achieved my dreams, I would look back on those ordinary afternoons and remember how everything had begun. I never imagined that my education would become something I struggled to care about. I never imagined that the schoolbooks I once loved would eventually remind me of everything I felt I was losing. At twelve, I still believed that the future was waiting for me. I had no reason to believe otherwise. ### The Girl Everyone Admired At school, my teachers often praised my performance. One morning, our class teacher entered the classroom carrying our marked assignments. Everyone became quiet as she placed the books on her desk. "Today, I am very happy with the work some of you have done," she announced. "There are learners in this class who understand that education requires dedication." She picked up one of the exercise books. "I want you all to learn from one another. Look at the effort that has been put into this work." She showed the class my assignment. I felt embarrassed as several learners turned to look at me, but I was also proud. "Excellent work," she said. "Keep it up." After the lesson, one of my friends approached me. "How do you manage to get such high marks?" I laughed. "I study." "We all study!" "Then perhaps you need to study a little more." We both laughed, and for a moment, everything felt simple. Those were the moments I treasured. I could laugh without forcing myself. I could talk about school without feeling afraid. I could imagine the future without wondering whether I would ever become the person I wanted to be. My teachers saw potential in me. They believed I could achieve great things if I continued working hard. Sometimes, they encouraged me to apply myself even more because they believed I had the ability to perform exceptionally well. Their confidence gave me strength. I wanted to prove that they were right. Whenever I received an excellent mark, I imagined it as another brick in the foundation of my future. Every assignment I completed, every examination I passed, and every lesson I understood seemed to bring me closer to my dream. I had no idea how fragile my confidence would eventually become. I did not know that a child could go from feeling capable of achieving anything to questioning her own worth.