Ermelinda's POV
If anyone had told me this journey would be easy, I would have laughed—bitter and loud.
The truth? Every step forward felt like dragging myself through a storm. Not just the obvious battles—the grueling shifts at work, the endless noise, the aching muscles—but the battles no one saw.
Like waking up at dawn when every bone in my body begged for just one more hour of sleep. Like juggling bills and textbooks, trying to stretch a dollar so thin it almost vanished. Like sitting in class with a headache so sharp it stabbed behind my eyes, and still trying to focus on Professor Hayes' lecture because I couldn't afford to fall behind.
Then there was the noise inside my head. The voice whispering Maybe you're not good enough. The sneer of doubt when I stumbled over a question or forgot a deadline. The way exhaustion wrapped around me like a suffocating blanket, pulling me down.
And worst of all? The loneliness.
Sometimes, it felt like I was running this race alone. That no one really understood how much I was sacrificing, how hard I was fighting.
The days blurred together: early mornings, late nights, and a million tiny moments of frustration. The diner's clang of plates and orders felt like a never-ending storm; the customers' impatient sighs and the cash register's harsh ring drilled into my nerves.
There were nights when my hands shook so badly from fatigue that I dropped dishes. I saw the disappointment in my boss's eyes, felt the weight of failure press down. But I refused to quit.
Because every mistake was a lesson. Every failure was fuel.
I remembered the first time I messed up on a big order. I wanted to crawl under the counter and disappear. But then Elias showed up during my break, plopped down beside me, and said, "Hey, it's okay. You're learning. You're still standing."
That small moment saved me.
Then there was school—the endless mountain of homework and projects that followed me home like shadows. I'd sit at my tiny desk, textbooks spread out, eyelids heavy, but I forced myself to push through. Sometimes, I barely understood the lessons. Sometimes, the words on the page swam and slipped away.
But quitting? No. Not a chance.
And then came the scholarship — my single beacon of hope. But with hope came pressure. The fear that if I failed this, everything I'd worked for would crumble. The weight of everyone's expectations — mine, my family's, even strangers' — rested on my shoulders.
Some nights, I lay awake, heart pounding, imagining the worst: what if I don't get it? What if all this effort was for nothing?
But those fears were the fires I walked through to become stronger.
I thought about my dad, distant and driven by money, who never believed in dreams without dollar signs. I thought about my sister, who stayed up late making sure I didn't drown in my own worries. I thought about Elias, my best friend who teased me relentlessly but somehow always reminded me of my worth.
Every challenge was a crack in my armor — a chance to rebuild stronger.
So I kept grinding. Kept pushing.
Because the hardest battles aren't the ones people see. They're the ones inside you — the fight against giving up, against doubt, against the fear that you're not enough.
But I am enough.
I will be enough.
And no matter how heavy this road gets, I'm not walking it alone