Years passed.
From elementary school to high school, nothing changed.
No one wanted to sit beside me.
In group projects, I was always chosen last.
During field trips, I was never invited.
“Son of the garbage man”—that seemed to be my only name.
Yet I never complained.
I didn’t fight back. I didn’t speak ill of anyone. I just studied harder.
While others played games in internet cafés, I saved up to photocopy my notes.
While they bought new phones, I walked long distances to save on bus fare.
And every night, as my mother slept beside her sack of bottles, I whispered to myself,
“Someday, Mom… we’ll rise from this.”
