A Letter to El: "Fading Dreams, Unwavering Hope"

It's been ages, but sometimes it feels like it happened just yesterday. It's true; the pain never truly fades away. This is the story of a teenage girl, a baby boy, and unfulfilled dreams.

This is my story.

Growing up in a semi-urban corner of Kenya was like navigating life on a challenging terrain. My father, a skilled artisan, toiled tirelessly at one of the local sugar companies. Nonetheless, the low job pay grade meant that his income was barely enough to support our family.

Our living quarters were modest, to say the least. Picture a one-roomed dwelling with a humble extension that functioned as our kitchen. But here's the twist: that same kitchen moonlighted as our children's bedroom. As you can imagine, peaceful slumber was a luxury, as I shared this tight space with four of my siblings. Meanwhile, our youngest brother cozied up next to our parents for a peaceful night's rest.

In our makeshift home, a thin curtain divided the room, magically transforming one side into a living room and the other into a bedroom. This curtain was not just a partition; it symbolized the aspirations of our family. You see, the house was company-owned, and the promise of a larger, more comfortable abode hung in the balance, contingent on my father's elusive promotion – an accolade that, despite his relentless dedication to his job, never seemed to materialize.

I can tell you are wondering why I am choosing to open this essay by painting a picture of my family's circumstances before diving into the tale that shook my very existence. Bear with me.

Hold onto your curiosity because this introduction is the canvas upon which the vivid tale of my life unfolds.

Picture this: I was the second of six siblings, and amidst our humble beginnings, I stood out as the shining star of intellect. In Kenya, my homeland, the yardstick for measuring one's intelligence is often your performance in school. And I didn't just perform; I excelled. From the first day of primary school until the very last, I consistently ranked at the pinnacle of my class.

As I approached the climax of my primary school journey, I achieved an academic feat that would set the stage for the rest of my life. My final year was a whirlwind of dedication and determination, culminating in remarkable grades that promised a ticket to one of the region's most prestigious high schools.

Despite my father's modest income, he cherished education as our escape from poverty. My admission to the school brought him immense happiness. He made every effort to provide for my needs, convinced that my dedication to studies would lift our family from poverty.

The first year unlike my second, was a thrilling ride, marked by my unwavering commitment and consistent top ranking in class. It was the start of a promising journey.

In my second year of high school, things changed. My dad's job had unexpected issues – they weren't getting paid, and this hit our family's finances hard. Due to the lack of school fees, I ended up spending more time at home than at school. My dreams began to fade away.

Hello, Older Boy!

Do you recall how silly it felt when you experienced your first love? It's hard to convey just how naive I was back then. In my teenage mind, he seemed absolutely perfect. He told me he loved me. This was my boy next door.

I fell fast. I fell hard.

At the age of sixteen, I found myself pregnant, which shattered my father's hopes.

I remained confined at home until the day my baby was born. Eventually, I had no choice but to find a new path to education, as returning to my former school was not an option. While I was grateful for the opportunity to resume my studies, it was far from a smooth journey. Every day after school, the responsibility of caring for my baby weighed heavily on my shoulders, leaving little time for rest or relaxation.

As you can imagine, this had a detrimental effect on my academic performance. I struggled to keep up with my classmates, and despite my determined efforts to bridge the gap, the challenge was relentless.

Then, a heartbreaking twist of fate occurred. I lost my baby, and the painful irony was that we lacked the financial means to uncover the cause of his suffering. So, I silently pay my respects, whispering "Rest in peace, Brian."

This loss was yet another layer of heartache, added to the earlier loss of my promising future and the dimming of my father's aspirations. Despite my academic setbacks, I did manage to complete high school, but the final examination results did not reflect my true potential.

Since then, I've been on a quest to rebuild the shattered fragments of my dreams, aspiring to make a meaningful contribution to society. Through all the trials and tribulations, my unwavering belief persists: one day, I will rise above these challenges and demonstrate to the world that there is indeed a chance for rebirth and renewal after experiencing the darkest depths of despair.

-Anonymous