ALONE, BUT STILL RISING

Some stories begin with laughter, soft memories, and warm kitchens filled with the smell of home. Mine did not.My story begins in a place where many forgotten stories start: a children’s home.There were no photographs on the walls, no one’s handwriting labeling my schoolbooks, no bedroom painted just for me. What I had was a bed, a bag, and a world that never quite made room for me.People assume abandonment is loud dramatic, obvious, sudden.But the truth is, it’s quiet.It happens in the spaces where love should’ve been.It grows in the silences between one temporary home and the next.This is the story of how I learned to survive those silences… and how I’m learning, finally, to replace them with my own voice.The earliest memories I have of the children’s home are vivid. Each room had about 8 to 10 single beds along the walls. I remember lying awake at night, unable to sleep at first, staring blankly at the white ceiling above me until exhaustion eventually carried me away.One warm, sunny day, I was playing on the jungle gym outside. A massive tree stood next to it, carrying delicate white flowers. Not knowing much about my allergies to bees, I grabbed one of the flowers unaware of the bee hiding inside and got stung.The pain was immediate and intense. I started screaming and crying, only to be told by a caregiver that if I continued, I would be given a reason to cry. My hand swollen, I still cried as I got a hiding on my tiny bum all the way back to the room.After all the drama, I was given ice cream. For a brief moment, it felt like joy, a reprieve from the constant weight of being alone.I remember one night waking up with a strange feeling in my stomach: fear. I woke my friends, whispering that I thought someone was standing by the door. After debating who would check, I grabbed my plastic toy water pistol, whispering, “I will go.”Tippy-toeing to the entrance of our bedroom, I peeked down the long passageway. At the end, the frosted glass of the door revealed a shadow of a human shape. Terrified, I sprinted back to my bed, kneeling and pointing my water pistol toward the bedroom entrance.“I’m not scared. Who will come with me? I will protect you,” I whispered. Two friends joined me. When we peeked again, it was the house mother walking halfway down the hallway to check on us. We sprinted back, pretending to sleep, but she knew we weren’t asleep. “Stay in bed,” she warned. “If I see anyone again, you won’t ride the bicycles tomorrow.”We later realized the shadow had been her all along. Scary yet funny but it was a reminder: even with friends, loneliness lingered.I had two brothers and a sister, older than me, but we were split into different homes. Being attached to anyone was almost impossible. Reflecting back, I see how much this part of my life left me feeling lonely and unworthy of love.