Support My Dream

My father passed away when I was only 5 years old. We were two brothers and one sister, left alone with my mother who carried the heavy burden of raising us all by herself. She struggled endlessly, sacrificing everything just to keep us alive. She used to buy four sandwiches for 400 fils: one for me, one for my brother, one for my sister, and she would keep the last one hidden in case one of us got hungry later. Most of the time, she didn’t eat at all.

There were nights when we had no home to go to. We slept inside the car. At one point, we stayed at my grandmother’s house, but we lived in the darkest days there. We slept under the staircase, my mother holding us close to protect us—even from the rats at night. My mother endured everything silently.

Later, we were thrown out of my grandmother’s house and returned to the car. Then we went to my uncle’s house and stayed for about a week, until his wife accused my mother of wanting to steal her husband. That false accusation led to us being kicked out again. I will never forget the day my uncle’s wife put all our clothes in a garbage bag and threw them outside. My mother cried every night in the car in front of us. We saw her pain, her tears, her helplessness, not knowing what to do. We were three children, heavy on her shoulders, but she never abandoned us.

My mother then went to my aunt’s house, but once again, we were thrown out after being falsely accused of stealing money. We then moved to my uncle’s place, but he used to beat my brother just for going outside to play football. Eventually, he also kicked us out. My mother was exhausted, moving from one house to another, always ending up rejected.

Finally, we went to another aunt’s house. But my brother, who was 14 at the time, was kicked out by her husband, who said he feared for his daughters—even though my brother saw them as nothing more than his own sisters. When my mother came back from work and saw my brother beaten and thrown out, she broke down in anger and confronted my aunt.

Eventually, my mother managed to save some money and rented a small apartment. She put us in school, determined to give us a chance to learn and grow. Despite all the pain, she never let go of us.

Years passed, and life turned in strange ways. The same aunt who once accused my mother of stealing and threw us out came back to us, asking for help. My mother welcomed them into our small rented apartment, let them eat and drink with us for six months without paying rent or food, all while my mother was still paying for everything—our needs, the rent, and their expenses.

Later, my mother’s car broke down. She asked my aunt’s husband to help sell it for a small amount so she could buy another car. Sadly, after she gave him the authorization to sell it, he betrayed her. He took the car, his wife, and his children, disappeared, and sold it for himself—leaving my mother with nothing. That was the reward for her kindness.

My mother had no choice but to take buses every day to reach her job until she could save again to buy another car. Life never gave her rest. At one point, fearing for my sister’s future, my mother married her off at only 16 years old to a man much older, just to protect her and ease the burden. She believed it was better for my sister to be married young than risk going astray. As time went on, my sister’s marriage eased the weight a little on my mother, but the struggles never ended. She carried on working, raising me and my brother, and never let go of her role as both a mother and a father. She gave us education, a roof over our heads, and most importantly—she gave us dignity.

Today, I am 35 years old. My mother is 67, and she is still working to this day. We have lived our whole lives in poverty. We never tasted the comfort or luxury others enjoy, but my mother never let us lose our sense of pride. She endured humiliation, betrayal, and cruelty from family and strangers, yet she always smiled at us so we wouldn’t feel broken.

I never married because I couldn’t leave her alone. She is my whole world, my everything. There was a time when I even thought of selling my kidney just to give her happiness and security, but she refused. She has always been my reason to keep fighting.

I am not telling you this story to beg or to seek pity. I am telling you with complete honesty because all I dream of is to live a decent life—like everyone else—and to finally give my mother the comfort she deserves after a lifetime of sacrifice.

If each of you could spare even one dollar, it would not be charity—it would be a weapon for me to fight poverty, to build a life where I can give my mother the peace she has earned. And I promise, if I ever become wealthy, I will not turn away a single poor person who comes to me. I will help them, so that no one else suffers what my mother suffered.

From my heart to yours—thank you for reading my story. ❤️