**** 10 years ago ****
The air hung heavy laden with the melody of Myca's young 12-year-old voice. Brimming with warmth and affection, she sang "Happy Birthday," her voice echoing off the bare walls of the dimly lit orphanage room. Those words, so full of joy and celebration, held a different meaning for Iris, who was soon to turn 18. Her heart swelled with warmth as she joined in, her voice mingling with her younger companions.
The room, their shared home, was small and old; it was grubby but cozy. It was a vibrant hub of life despite the absence of ambiance that electricity could provide. In the middle, standing tall, was the makeshift birthday cake. A loaf of bread topped with flickering candles, which truthfully may not have been enough to light even the small room they have, but was more than sufficient to illuminate their heartfelt smiles.
"Happy birthday, Iris!" Myca eagerly exclaimed, joyfully presenting the makeshift cake. An earnest smile crossed her face, her eyes sparkling with mirth beneath her hair that danced with the rhythm of her excitement.
"Thank you, Myca. You're so sweet," Iris said, hugging her tightly.
"Remember, make a wish before you blow out the candles," exclaimed one of the five other children, holding back tears of happiness at witnessing such a rare occasion in their place.
"What should I wish for?" Iris asked softly, looking around at her beloved, makeshift family.
"Anything you want," Myca said. "Maybe you'll find your parents someday."
Iris felt a pang in her chest. She had always wondered about her parents, who they were, why they left her here. She had no memories of them, no clues to their identity. She had only a name tag that read "Iris" and a silver pendant with a flower engraved on it.
"Maybe," Iris said, forcing a smile. "Or maybe I'll become a famous singer."
"That would be awesome," another child said. "You have such a beautiful voice."
"But you can be a great painter!" exclaimed Myca.
"Look!" pointing to a charcoal panting displayed inside their room. The painting is framed to what looks like a DIY frame. "You have many talents, Iris."
A ripple of soft laughter traveled around the room, a lighthearted moment that momentarily masked the growing bittersweet emotions within Iris. Gratefully, she cast her gaze on her beloved, makeshift family. Her eyes shimmered with unshed tears, the product of a tangled mixture of happiness at their thoughtful gesture, fear of her impending adulthood, and a longing for the answers about her past she didn't have.
"I didn't know we had this many candles," Iris observed smilingly, catching a tear threatening to skate down her cheeks. The delicate twinkling in her voice held an unspoken appreciation that only the room fraught with love and understanding could comprehend.
"We saved them up for you," Myca said proudly. "You deserve the best birthday ever."
Her impending 18th birthday was a sore spot, it held the potent promise of a departure. It resonated in her chest, like an uncertain percussionist was drumming against her heart, keeping pace with the fluttering fear of what lay beyond the well-known walls of her orphanage. Thinking of the other teens of her age, Iris envied them, they had the privilege of anticipation about turning 18, a luxury she couldn't afford.
As her impromptu birthday celebration spiraled down into echoes, Iris absorbed the room's warmth and love as if she could carry it with her when her time came to leave. She assumed a role of strength, an older sister figure who shielded her vulnerabilities to remain a beacon of fortitude for her young family. Yet, beneath her strong guise, lay an uncertain girl, poised at the brink of the unknown. Fearful, but trying her best to be ready and brave to face the world that awaited her outside the safety and warmth of the orphanage.
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Iris stood outside the office, her heart pounding in her chest. She took a deep breath, trying to quell the turmoil of emotions that threatened to spill over. The orphanage office was a small, cluttered room with faded furniture and a worn carpet. It was a space she had visited countless times for meetings and updates, but today was different. Today marked the beginning of the end.
With a determined exhale, Iris knocked on the door, her knuckles tapping out a rhythm that matched her racing heartbeat. A gentle voice called out from within, "Come in."
As she entered the room, she found herself face-to-face with Ms. Hernandez, one of the orphanage's supervisors. Ms. Hernandez was a woman of unwavering kindness, her eyes reflecting years of dedication to the children under her care.
"Hello, Iris," Ms. Hernandez greeted, offering a warm smile. "Please, have a seat."
Iris took a seat in front of Ms. Hernandez's desk, her hands clasped tightly in her lap. She tried her best to appear composed, to suppress the storm of emotions churning within her. This was the conversation she had been dreading, the reminder that her departure from the orphanage was imminent.
"Iris," Ms. Hernandez began gently, "I wanted to have a chat with you today. As you know, your 18th birthday is drawing near."
Iris nodded, her gaze steady even as her heart clenched. She had known this moment would come, but that didn't make it any easier to face.
"We understand that this is a significant transition," Ms. Hernandez continued, her tone soft. "Leaving the orphanage and stepping into the outside world is a big step. But please know that you are not alone in this journey. We are here to support you in any way we can."
"Have you given any thought to your career goals or next steps?"
Here, Iris hesitated. Truthfully, she had dreamed but never allowed herself to seriously plan, afraid those dreams might turn to smoke upon walking through the orphanage gates for the last time.
"I've...considered becoming a...uhmm...a...t-teacher," she said carefully. "Working with children has always brought me joy." It was not a lie - she found fulfillment in caring for the younger orphans. But it was not her deepest passion either.
Ms. Hernandez nodded encouragingly. "A noble path. Now is the time to focus on such thoughts and talents. I'd like you to update your resume today so we may start circulating it to potential employers or training programs."
Iris swallowed hard, trying to ignore the lump rising in her throat. Updating her resume meant making this transition real - meant the end of her time here was truly near.
Iris appreciated Ms. Hernandez's words, but the weight of reality pressed down on her. She felt the familiar sting of tears threatening to surface, and she blinked them back, determined not to show her vulnerability.
"We have been in touch with some agencies and organizations," Ms. Hernandez said, her voice reassuring. "As soon as we have your resume, we will immediately recommend you to them. They are looking for individuals with your qualities and determination. We believe that your caring nature and your experience here will make you an excellent candidate for various opportunities."
Iris managed a small smile, her gratitude genuine but mixed with anxiety. She nodded, her voice steady as she replied, "Thank you, Ms. Hernandez. I appreciate your help and support."
The supervisor's gaze held empathy as she continued, "Iris, we want to make sure that this transition is as smooth as possible for you. We would like you to update your resume. Highlight your experiences here, your dedication to the children, and your ability to handle responsibilities. We believe this will showcase your skills and help you secure a good position."
Iris felt a surge of both relief and apprehension. She was grateful for the guidance and assistance, yet the act of updating her resume was a stark reminder that her life at the orphanage was drawing to a close.
"We will do everything in our power to help you," Ms. Hernandez reassured. "You have a bright future ahead of you, Iris. And although leaving the orphanage is a significant change, it's also an opportunity for growth and new experiences."
Iris nodded, her gaze drifting to a photograph on the wall. It captured a moment of pure joy, a memory of a group outing to the park. The children's laughter and smiles were frozen in time, a snapshot of the love and camaraderie they had shared.
"We will surely miss you, Iris." Ms. Hernandez's voice halted the fear of uncertainty that started to creep within her.
She offered her a smile, hoping it did not betray her swelling emotions. "Thank you, Ms. Hernandez, I appreciate your support during this transition." She rose, gripping her bag tightly. "I'll get started on my resume straight away."
With a respectful nod, Iris exited the office. But once in the hall, her calm facade slipped. Leaning against the wall, she took a shuddering breath, eyes straying to the windows overlooking the orphanage grounds. Her home - but how much longer? Clenching her fist around her silver pendant, Iris steeled her nerves.
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Iris sat on a dimly lit desk, her eyes was staring on a blank page for a long time now. Where to even start? She began listing her responsibilities at the orphanage, but as she wrote she felt doubt creeping in. Would employers see merit in mentoring children and managing chores?
Erasing the words, she thought harder about skills she could offer. Good with children, organized and reliable. But how to quantify those in a way that proved her value? Frustration mounting, she tapped her pen impatiently.
If only she had real work experience to reference. But who would hire an orphan girl with no connections or qualifications? As this truth sunk in, Iris felt tears pricking her eyes. How could she compete when she had spent her whole life within these walls?
Determined not to give up, she reworked her duties into achievements. "Developed natural leadership through managing a team of 20 younger residents. Maintained orderly routines to care for others." It hardly seemed like enough.
What else was there to say? Iris racked her brain but came up blank. Without opportunity or training, she feared her resume would never stand out. More than ever, she missed having a family to guide her steps. But there was no going back now - only moving forward.