… luxury was but a distant dream, I first opened my eyes. The world around me was a tapestry of humble beginnings, woven with the threads of hardship and the unyielding spirit of survival. Yet, in this place where affluence was scarce, I found an abundance of something far more precious—dignity.

I grew up in the alleys of want, where every day was a testament to endurance. The walls of my home, though frail and weathered, stood firm like the resolve in my heart. I was taught early that the measure of a person is not found in the weight of their pocket but in the strength of their character.

There was no shame in the simplicity of our existence, for within it lay the purest form of humanity. I was poor, yes, but rich in aspirations. My hands, though calloused from toil, were eager to turn pages and delve into worlds penned by those who came before me. In the silence of the night, under the dim glow of a flickering candle, I found solace in the written word.

Knowledge became my sanctuary, a place where the chains of poverty could not bind my mind. With each word I read, a new horizon unfolded, promising a future painted with the colors of my intellect. I sought my fortune not in gold, but in the wisdom of sages and the tales of the ages.

As I journeyed through the landscapes of literature, I planted seeds of dreams in the fertile soil of my imagination. And now, as I stand at the precipice of tomorrow, I look back at the path I’ve treaded, a path littered with the petals of perseverance.

One day, I believe, I will harvest the fruits of my labor. My reward will not jingle in my pockets but will resonate in the echoes of my words. For in the end, it is not the wealth we accumulate that defines us, but the legacy we leave behind in the stories we tell and the lives we touch.

© Beatriz Esmer