I woke up today and I felt like I couldn’t breathe.
The grips of a dream tightly coiled around my throat as it forced me to acknowledge it.
I was a failure.
That was basically it.
And I knew that grades don’t define who you are, but they get you into university, they get you a good course, a good degree, a good job.
Money.
And then I won’t have to suffer living without it.
And I knew that money don’t buy you happiness, but they buy peace of mind.
How many times has my mum stayed awake worrying about how much to give and how much to keep?
One time my mum refused to send money back for the treatment of her grandmother. Not because she was selfish, but because my brother and I had taken to crying because we had no lunch.
She found out I hid away in libraries to stave off hunger while my brother hid in toilets.
Her grandmother died less than a week later.
The way guilt plagues her every breath even now…
Since then we vowed as a family to share what we have, even if we have so little.
Money buys safety. There are two red flashing lights on my mum’s dashboard of her car. When she took it to a garage she was told she’d have to get it fixed for a ridiculous amount of price because her break pads had no grip and her steering was askew.
She refused to pay that much for her own safety because her mother’s sister just died and someone has to pay the funeral.
Now she prays extra hard every time she drives.
Money buys my future.
Money.
If I fail my exam, I won’t have it.
Now I’m in my brother’s room because apparently I screamed into my pillow and apparently the panic attacks were back.
I called the school for a tactical day-off.