Salma
As I woke up to a new day, I gazed up at the ceiling, my mind consumed by the weight of my family's struggles. I silently prayed for an end to our hardships, for the freedom to speak without fear of being silenced due to our low social standing.
As I sit here, I often wonder when my life will change for the better. When will I be able to dress like the other girls in Scarpar district, without the burden of poverty weighing me down? When will my family's struggles come to an end, and we'll no longer rely on my brother's meager earnings from delivering concrete blocks?
I dream of a life where my father drives a car with pride, my mother owns a thriving supermarket, and I can attend school without worrying about fees. I yearn for a life free from bullying and shame, where I can hold my head high without feeling useless.
My brother's tireless efforts to provide for our family, despite the little he earns, weigh heavily on my heart. I often ask myself, "When will this struggle end?" Only God knows.
It's a lot for a 17-year-old to bear.
I heard my mom's urgent voice calling out my name, "SALMA!!!" I quickly got up, not wanting her to yell again, and made my way to the kitchen.
There, I found her standing by the old stove, her back to me. I snuck up behind her and gave her a gentle kiss on the cheek. "Assalamaleikum, nënë,"(mother) I said, hugging her. She was taken aback at first, but then hugged me back. "Waleikumsalam, vajza ime,"( my daughter) she replied, her voice trembling slightly, revealing that she had been crying.
As I stood before her, I noticed her puffy, bloodshot eyes, and my heart skipped a beat with worry.
"Nënë, what happened?" I asked, my hands cradling her face as I gently wiped away her tears. Seeing my mom cry is unbearable, and I felt my heart ache with worry. She avoided my gaze, her eyes downcast, and tears continued to fall.
I pressed her for answers, my voice laced with concern. "Nënë, please tell me what's wrong. You're really scaring me."
She slowly lifted her eyes to mine, and I was met with a flood of tears. "Oh, Salma..." she whispered, her voice cracking with emotion.
"Yes, nënë?" I encouraged her to go on. My mom's voice cracked as she spoke, "Salma, you know your father and I are doing everything we can for you. We want you to go back to school and finish your studies, but it's getting harder." She broke down in tears. "We've tried to come up with solutions, but it feels like we're just thinking and not taking action. I don't want to fail you, and I won't leave your father, no matter how hard things get with my sister." She sniffled, her voice shaking. "I have to support your father; if I don't, he'll fall apart completely."
Her tears flowed heavier, and my heart ached for her.
"Y-your papa he .." she paused crying not wanting to continue making me more scared as to what happened to my papa.
"Nënë what's wrong with papa, I hope he's not I'll , please nënë talk to me !" I felt years pooling my eyes hoping that papa is well.
My mom's voice trembled as she spoke, "Y-your papa... he..." She trailed off, overcome with emotion, and I felt my heart racing with fear. "Nënë, what's wrong with Papa? Is he ill? Please, tell me!" I begged, tears welling up in my eyes.
She took a deep breath before continuing, "Salma, your papa is sick. He's been talking to himself constantly, even in his sleep. And to make matters worse, Mr. Ashim has been relentless in demanding repayment of the loan your papa took out in June. It's now October, and your papa is at his breaking point." Her voice cracked as she spoke, and she burst into tears.
I felt my world crumbling around me as I processed her words. "Yesterday, your papa received his test results," she continued, "and his health is in jeopardy. He needs immediate medical attention and surgery within weeks, or... or he might not make it." Her words hung in the air like a death sentence, and I felt tears streaming down my face.
My mom's words were infused with a sense of hopelessness. "Salma, I'm desperate. I feel like God is our only hope. But time is slipping away, and if I don't find a way to save your papa, I'll lose him."
As my mom's words sank in, I felt a chill run down my spine. My mind went numb. Papa needs treatment? What's wrong with him? The thought of losing him was unbearable, especially when we need him most. But how can we afford the operation? We're struggling to make ends meet as it is.
"Nënë, what's going on with Papa? What's wrong with him that he needs surgery so soon?"
My mom's words cut deep: "He has heart failure and needs a heart transplant, or else..."
The thought sent my mind spiraling, making me feel hopeless. But I knew I couldn't give up. I had to act fast, or risk losing my dad and becoming an orphan. I felt lost and confused, unsure of what to do next. Our only hope seemed to be God, but how long would we have to wait for things to change? Only God knew.
As we stood there, I held my mom close and let her tears subside. Then, I smiled at her, trying to convey a sense of hope and reassurance. I truly believed that Papa would get better, and I wanted my mom to feel the same confidence. We needed to draw strength from each other and face this difficult time together.