My journey as a student began fifteen years ago back then. I was just six-years old kid full of excitement, carrying a small bag and even bigger dream, but as the years passed and started to understand the difference between right and wrong the harsh reality of my life began to unfold our family's situation was far from stable.
While other children spent their afternoons playing or studying, my reality was different. My childhood was divided between the pages of my books and the chores at home. I spent most of my time looking after our cattle, ensuring they were fed while my own dreams felt like they were starving. There was no time to be a carefree child.
The classroom, which should have been a place of friendship, become a place of isolation, I felt invisible. I had no friends because I had neither the time to play or the money to join them, during the tiffin break, when the hallway echoed with laughter and the smell of shared snacks. I stayed back, I had no money for food, and the empty bench was my only companion.
I remember the whispers and the way some classmates would mock me. It hurt, but I learned to were a mask of strength. I swallowed my pain and never let a single tear fall in front of them. People often say they wish they could go back to there school days, but for me, those memories are shadows I'd rather not revisit.