I’ve given everything for my family for as long as I can remember.

We used to live in the countryside, and by the time I was seven, I was already working in neighbors’ orchards and farms. My parents always told me to give my best, even though they were very strict. When my brother was born, I accepted him happily. He got more attention, but honestly… I didn’t mind.

Back then, they were always working, so I was left alone most of the time—with my grandmother or my uncles. Looking back now… I realize I was pretty neglected.

As my brother grew up, my parents noticed he was rebellious, lazy, always complaining. I was about ten when my little sister was born, and I was genuinely excited. I always got along better with girls—there were more girls than boys in my town, and I struggled with severe social anxiety and shyness. But with girls, things felt easier… more natural.

So having a little sister felt perfect. Taking care of her, loving her—it came effortlessly. She grew up taller than me—she’s about 1.80 meters now. I stopped growing at thirteen… I’m only 1.50. Both my siblings are taller than me.

But there was always a problem.

When my sister was born, my father had a stable, well-paying job. Still, my parents would always say they were “busy”… even when they weren’t. So I became the one who raised my younger siblings. Whenever my friends invited me to birthdays or parties, I always said no. I couldn’t go. I had to stay home and take care of them.

At fourteen, my youngest brother was born… and it was the same story all over again.

In high school, I got a scholarship for studying in a public school. And like always, I gave everything to my family—I didn’t keep any money for myself. I kept working too. Since I was twelve, my main job has been working as a night guard in factories and warehouses. That’s where most of my money came from… money I gave to them.

One day, I wanted to tell my parents I wanted to learn how to play the violin. But they spoke first. They said it would be great if I learned guitar. So… I never told them the truth. I learned guitar because they wanted me to.

My real dream was always to become a writer… and an animator. Even though I was the only one in class still using a button phone, and my computer could barely even run.

But my family pushed me to learn modern technology. So I did. I learned programming, web development… I even became a computer technician.

One day, my mother saw me writing in a journal I had made myself—from old papers and thread. She criticized me for wanting to be a writer. I didn’t argue. I just accepted it… and abandoned my novel.

What frustrates me the most… is that they always complain. They treat me like a burden—like I’m some kind of parasite who only asks for things.

Which is ironic.

Because with my scholarship and my job, I pay for the gas, the electricity, the food. I buy clothes and shoes for my siblings… while I still wear shirts from when I was twelve. I only have two pairs of shoes—one broken pair for work, and an older but slightly better pair for important occasions.

And still… they call me spoiled.

They say they don’t have money, yet they buy expensive, branded things for my siblings. On my birthday… I didn’t get anything. Just a message from my friends. My own family didn’t even remember.

I’m twenty now… and I feel weak. I go hungry a lot because of the economic situation in my country. Sometimes, I secretly give my food to my family. When they ask, I just say I’ve already eaten.

Lately, I’ve been getting headaches. One time, my sister saw me almost collapse. But I refused help. I just keep going—working all night, then going to university from 7 a.m. to 6 p.m.

There’s something I never told my family.

I had a girlfriend. She was taller than me… and she used to be one of my babysitters. She was about eight years older than me. We started dating when I was eighteen.

When I turned twenty, I went to her house in secret… but no one was there. Then her mother called me.

She had been hit by a car.

I ran to the hospital—it was about a kilometer and a half away. When I got there… I saw her. Pale. Broken.

She apologized to me.

She said she was sorry she wouldn’t be there for my graduation… like she promised.

That night… I stayed with her.

And she died in my arms.

She was the only person who ever truly supported me… the only one who stayed when I went through moments—crises—that almost destroyed me.

When I got home… I did what I always do.

I wiped my face… and smiled.

I went to a theater school, so pretending comes naturally to me. Acting happy… acting normal.

But my little sister looked at me… and said something that froze me:

“Your eyes… they don’t shine anymore. Are you okay?”

I almost broke right there.

But I just smiled… and told her everything was fine.

And now… I keep working. Keep studying. Trying to be the perfect son my parents want.

Even though they still say I do nothing for this family.

When in reality… I’ve given them everything.

The last time I bought something for myself… I was nine years old.

After that… I stopped living for myself.

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