Power.
I longed for it, craved it like a kid in an ice cream shop eyes wide, heart pounding, desperate for that first, delicious taste. It consumed me, this desire, gnawing at me in the quiet moments when the world seemed too big and I felt too small. You might wonder what could fuel an obsession like that. Well, let me take you back.
My dad died when I was six, leaving me with memories that felt more like faded photographs, full of shadows and almosts. My mum… well, she did her best. She was strong in her own way, surviving life's hurricanes, but she was never powerful. Not in the way that could change our circumstances or give us a fighting chance.
But me? I wanted more. Needed more. And now, eighteen years later, standing here and staring at this… Oops, I'm getting ahead of myself. Allow me to introduce myself properly.
My name is Annalisa, but I'd rather you call me Ana. Annalisa feels too sweet, too cliché for someone like me, someone shaped by backstreets and broken dreams. I was born in a humble okay, let's not sugarcoat it slum neighborhood where kids grew up fast, and dreams got tangled in reality's iron grip.
As a kid, I loved school. No, really I mean it. I was one of those bright-eyed, overly eager students who genuinely looked forward to lessons. I thought I'd grow up to be a doctor, someone who'd wear a white coat and have a fancy title and everything.
"And what is the answer to 7 + 34?" my teacher would ask, her gaze sweeping over a room full of kids trying to disappear behind their desks.
"Me! Meeee!" I'd wave my hand so fast you'd think it might fly off.
"Yes, Ana, go on," she'd smile, and my little heart would swell with pride.
"The answer is fortyon—" I'd blurt out, confidently, before realizing my tongue had betrayed me.
See, that was me as a kid: always the first to answer questions, full of energy and a belief that I'd conquer the world. I lived for gold stars and pats on the back.But reality, as it tends to be, didn't care about my childhood dreams or my gold-star ambitions. As I grew older, life grew tougher, sharper, like a cold wind that never quite let me catch my breath. By the time I turned 18, the harsh truths that adulthood brings were no longer avoidable.
My mum, bless her heart, tried. She really did. But trying doesn't always put food on the table or pay for fancy education. The dream of becoming a doctor? Yeah, that dream crumbled fast. Turns out, you need money and lots of it to chase that white coat. Tuition fees, textbooks, endless years of study… None of that is free, and in our world, money was as rare as a peaceful night's sleep.
So there I was, dreams shattered, reality pressing down on me like a weight I couldn't shake off.I needed a job. Not just some part-time gig that paid me in spare change and false hope. I needed something real, something that could put me through school and maybe even resurrect those crushed dreams of mine. Hey, don't think I'd given up just yet I'm more stubborn than that.
For a while, I took on a bunch of silly online moderator jobs. You know, keeping chat trolls at bay and dealing with more drama than a high school reunion. It was…fine, but my heart wasn't in it. What I really wanted was to be one of those popular, adorable streamers. You know the type: cute bunny headphones, glittering backgrounds, and an audience that clung to them like leeches, always desperate for more.
The dream of being that streamer, someone adored and admired, kept me up at night. I imagined having people tune in just to watch me, to hang on my every word, to laugh at my jokes. The allure of it all the fame, the power over an audience, the chance to make something of myself was irresistible.
I was perfect for a streamer seriously, I had the look. My physique was on point, the kind that made people do a double take. It wasn't just about being camera-ready; I had the energy, the charm, the whole package. I mean, how could I not be made for this?
Like, hey, I wasn't Beyoncé or anything, but come on I had what it took! I'm average height (not really great with all that 5 ft 6 stuff), but I was slim in all the right places. You know what I mean, right? I wasn't one of those models that you could accidentally mistake for a scarecrow; I had curves that were just enough to turn heads but not so much that I couldn't pull off the cute outfits that scream "streamer chic."But one special thing about me literally is my eyes. No, really. I have these sexy eyes that have turned heads and made hearts skip beats. I know it's true because people tell me all the time, and hello, I see my reflection almost every day!
Yhhh, well, little did I know that streaming wasn't all sugar and cute bunny ear headphones. There was a whole lot more to it. I mean, I definitely wasn't expecting to start one day and boom become a superstar streamer overnight. Come on, that's just fantasy!
But still, I had no clue about the darker side of the streaming world. Most of the 'gifters' you know, the supporters who shower you with gifts and donations often had their own agendas. Some of them were just looking for the "kuku," if you catch my drift. It was all fun and games until I realized that not everyone had pure intentions.
When I first started, it felt like hell. As a pretty black girl with barely any viewers, it was a struggle to engage anyone in my livestreams. The odds were stacked against me. I was fighting for attention while others with established followings breezed through like it was nothing. And battling? Ugh, sometimes it was downright boring. My opponents would often underestimate me, thinking they could easily take me down without breaking a sweat. And most of the big gifters who stumbled upon my streams seemed to want to take advantage of me. It usually went something like this: I'd be live, doing my best to keep the energy up and engage with whoever was tuning in, when suddenly a big gifter would pop in.
As always, I'd try to be polite and engaging, hoping to keep them in my livestream because, hey, those gifts could mean the difference between scraping by and finally getting noticed. They would come in with their charming lines, complimenting me with the usual spiel: "You're so pretty!" "You have gorgeous eyes!" All the sweet nothings that were meant to make me blush andMost of them if not all would tip me just enough to keep the energy up, you know, tossing a few coins my way to show they had a little money to spare. It was like a dance: a little tip here, a compliment there, and suddenly, they felt entitled to slide into my DMs. Wrong move.
Once they got my attention, it usually led to, "Can I have your contact?" which inevitably progressed to, "I'm feeling cold; I need something to keep me warm." Urrghh. It was so frustrating!
What part of "I'm trying to build a career here" did they not understand? It felt like the moment they crossed into my DMs, the conversation shifted from genuine support to something sleazier. It was as if they couldn't see me as more than just a pretty face behind a screen, reduced to an object rather than a creator with dreams and ambitions.
So here I was, facing the reality of streaming—exhausting… Chrimmmm! The clock chimed next to my head on my bedside table. Urrghh.
I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to block out the sound of that annoyingly persistent clock, and drifted back to dreamland.
When I finally woke up, it was 8:46 AM. Hey, don't judge me! I had been up streaming until midnight, so technically, I didn't have enough sleep. I let out a big yawn, stretching my arms above my head as I slid out of my twin bed. The moment my feet hit the furry, rugged flooring, I stood up to stretch, feeling the tightness in my muscles from the late-night grind. My eyes slowly surveyed my room. It was dim because my curtains were drawn tight, blocking out the morning light, and urrrg, the mess! Clothes were littered everywhere on the rug an explosion of fabric that made it look like a tornado had hit.
But then OMG! My eyes widened as I caught sight of my red utilitarian bra dangling from my ring light. Oops.Thank goodness my mum wasn't around. She would have launched into her daily speech about how "cleanliness is next to Godliness." Like, hey, I'm not dirty! I just tend to change clothes during my livestreams and forget to pick them up before collapsing into bed later. I'm not a madwoman or anything!
It's just the reality of trying to juggle streaming and life. I'd pick an outfit that looked cute on camera, toss it aside when I wanted to switch things up, and before I knew it, my room looked like a fashion disaster zone.
I rolled my eyes at the thought of her sermon. Sure, I could stand to clean up a bit, but who had time for that when I was trying to build a career? Besides, I figured if my audience could see me at my best flawless makeup and adorable outfits then they wouldn't mind a little chaos behind the scenes. I mean, it added to the charm, right?
After feeling my back muscles pop a bit, I opened my windows to let in some fresh air. But whoa, it was really cold outside classic mid-November! A bit weird, considering I was still trying to wake up. Anyway, with a little effort, I started tidying up my room. Hey, it's no big deal just a normal iPhone girly kind of room, if you get my drift.
For a moment, my eyes drifted over to my iPhone on my dressing table. I was tempted to pick it up, you know, to check if anyone had sent me a text (maybe if Cassper had texted?). Yikes! But I knew that if I reached for my phone, it would totally distract me from the task at hand cleaning my room. So, I shoved that thought aside and continued arranging my space.
After I showered and felt a little more human, I decided to head outside to grab breakfast. Hey, I'm no chef, and I couldn't afford to make a disaster meal that early in the day, so I made my way to my favorite neighborhood breakfast spot, Cheelies.
I ordered my usual: toasts and a cup of tea, all neatly packaged in a nylon bag. As I walked back home, I couldn't help but notice the way some guys were eyeing me in my skin-tight shirt and shorts. Hey, they could look, but they couldn't touch.
Oh, and did I mention that I really wasn't good with people? I mean, I just didn't have the time to be all friendly and stuff. Anyway, as I headed home, I shoved my keys into my pocket and went straight to the kitchen to plate my food. After that, I made a beeline for my room because honestly, we didn't have a dining table, and that would just be too cliché.
Picking up my phone from the dresser, I turned it on and was greeted by the usual twinkling eyes of my friend Marvis as my wallpaper. Oh, no notifications? Jeez. Typical. I swiped into my TikTok app, which was also my streaming platform, and, as usual, the videos I posted were still stuck at 67 likes. Oh well, that was the struggle.
Downing my creamy tea because let's be real, I wasn't about to eat the toast since it was kind of burnt I set my phone on my tripod and got ready to go live. I turned on all my background lights, creating the perfect ambiance for my stream, and took a deep breath, feeling that familiar mix of excitement and nerves bubbling up.
"Hello, Rita!" I called out to a familiar viewer of mine. Honestly, she wasn't really a big gifter, but if she had the money, she definitely would have shown me some support. You get my drift? She always stuck around in my streams, no matter how boring it got literally.
Rita had this unwavering loyalty that I appreciated more than I could express. She was the type of person who would drop a supportive comment even when I was fumbling through my content or struggling to keep the energy up. It felt good to know that, at least for one person, I was worth tuning in for.
Gotholic wants to play with you! I was on his livestream just now, and he said I should tell you that he wants to play," came her reply on the screen.
Owk…
Gotholic was one of those streamers with a huge female following. I mean, I totally understood why they supported him not that I was being a hater or anything. The dude was drop-dead gorgeous, with those mesmerizing Asian eyes and a hard jawline that could cut glass.
But here's the thing: I was scared. I knew he would totally wipe the floor with me. He never asked to play with someone unless he had a solid chance of winning, and I had a feeling he wouldn't let me off easy.
My heart raced as I thought about it. Did I really want to put myself out there to compete against someone like him? The pressure was already mounting, and the last thing I needed was to embarrass myself live in front of my viewers. But deep down, I knew I couldn't say noIt was like turning down a game of kung fu with Jet Li. I knew I'd lose, but there was still that glimmer of hope that I might at least gain a little popularity from the encounter. I mean, who wouldn't want to say they'd played with the king of livestreams?
The thought of it was tempting. I could picture the chat lighting up with excitement, viewers buzzing about the showdown between me and Gotholic. Even if I got my butt handed to me, there'd be a story to tell, and maybe just maybe some new followers who'd want to tune in for the next round.
Taking a deep breath, I weighed my options. I could stay in my comfort zone and play it safe or step outside my bubble and embrace the chaos. After all, what's life without a little adventure? With a hesitant but determined nod to myself, I replied, "Okay, I'm in. Let's do this!"