I never told my children what I did for a living. I didn’t want them to feel ashamed of me. When my youngest daughter asked what I did, I hesitantly said I was a laborer. Every day, before going home, I bathed in a public toilet to hide my real job. My only wish was to send my daughters to school, to educate them so they could stand with dignity in front of others. I didn’t want anyone to look down on them the way people looked down on me. People always insulted me. I spent every penny I earned on my daughters’ education. I never bought a new shirt, instead using that money for their books. Respect… that’s all I wanted them to earn for me.
I was a cleaner. The day before my daughter’s college admission deadline, I couldn’t arrange her fees. That day, I couldn’t work. I sat by a pile of garbage, trying to hide my tears. All my coworkers saw me, but none came to talk. I felt like a failure, heartbroken. I didn’t know how to face my daughter at home when she’d ask about the fees. I was born poor and always believed nothing good happens to the poor.
After work, all the cleaners came to me, sat with me, and asked if I considered them my brothers. Before I could answer, they placed their day’s earnings in my hands. When I tried to refuse, they said, “We’ll go hungry today, but our daughter must go to college.” I was speechless. That day, I didn’t even think of bathing and went home in my cleaner’s state.
I told my daughters about my job. They encouraged me, and I continued my work. My daughter is now about to complete her university degree. All three sisters don’t let me work anymore. They take up part-time jobs. But often, they take me to my old workplace and feed my coworkers. My colleagues laugh and ask why they feed them so much. My daughter says, “That day, you all went hungry for me so I could become something. Pray that I can feed you all every day.”
Nowadays, I don’t feel poor at all. How can someone with such children ever be poor?
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