Mom's voice was doting, with a hint of reproach.
"Silly girl, what parent would ever think their child is a burden?"
"As long as you amount to something, your dad and I—forget suffering; even if we worked ourselves to death, we'd do it willingly."
A mother's love pressed down on my heart like a weight, so heavy I couldn't breathe.
Maybe… I should have died a long time ago.
Or maybe my birth itself was the original sin.
Because she gave birth to me, Mom was left with a bad back. When it flared up, the pain was so severe she'd lose control of her bladder and bowels, her whole body paralyzed in bed.
Treating Mom's illness drained every cent the family had, and still it was never cured.
To care for her while she was bedridden, Dad quit his decent job and hauled cement at a construction site near the hospital.
For as long as I could remember, I'd known the taste of poverty.
Because food at home was so scarce, I was seriously malnourished—skinny and small, living like a mouse.
Everything I wore was hand-me-downs from relatives and friends.
Oversized clothes, ill-fitting shoes, and inferiority carved into my bones—that was my entire childhood.
By middle school, my body started developing.