Every morning, life demanded the same routine from me. I had to wake up early—long before I wanted to—just to sweep the floors, wash dishes, and offer prayers. For a little girl who was once treated like a delicate princess by her mother, this new life felt like a punishment. The warmth of being pampered was gone; instead, I often felt like a servant in my own home.
One particular morning is etched in my memory. The wooden door creaked open, and my stepfather's heavy footsteps echoed into my room.
"Wake up, Kinley, it's already 6:30! You're still sleeping?" he called out firmly.
His voice had a tone that left me with no choice but to obey. I instantly threw off my blanket, folded my bed sheet carefully, and stretched my arms wide to fight off the stubborn sleep. To shake off the grogginess, I twirled around the room, making random little dance moves that made me smile to myself.
Then I pulled open the curtain. A sharp beam of morning sunlight landed on my face, almost like a gentle slap. For a few minutes, I simply stood there, my eyes half-closed, soaking in the golden warmth of the sun. It felt peaceful, and it gave me a moment to breathe and clear my thoughts before diving into the chores.
I swept the house quietly, the sound of the broom scratching against the floor echoing in the silence. After that, I lit the butter lamp and began my morning prayers. My faith in Buddhism always gave me comfort—it lifted my spirit and made me feel less alone, as if the prayers themselves were guiding me through those difficult days.
Just as I was finishing, my mother's voice cut through the calmness.
"Kinley! Get yourself ready, we need to go to work."
I sighed.
"Okay, Mom," I replied, though my voice was reluctant.
I already knew what "work" meant—helping in someone else's fields under the hot sun. I didn't bother dressing up. Instead, I slipped into a faded pair of pants and a worn-out shirt. I combed my hair neatly, telling myself it was enough.
In the kitchen, I found my stepfather busy preparing our lunch. His hands moved quickly and precisely, chopping vegetables, stirring, adding a pinch of masala. I stood beside him, helping with small tasks like cutting onions and chilies. The smell of spices filled the room, making my eyes water, but I enjoyed watching him cook.
Within thirty minutes, the food was ready, neatly packed, and we set off for the fields.