In my life, everything arrives as an exchange.
If something good happens to me, I wait for the balance to be taken elsewhere.
A blessing for me must mean a burden for someone I love.
A door opens for me, and somewhere in the background, another one quietly closes for my mother, my father, or my brother.
I have lived with this fear for so long that even my prayers sound like negotiations.
God, make my grandparents happy.
God, guide my brother through his exams.
God, bless my mother with lighter burdens and fuller pockets.
God, keep my father healthy for many more years.
Do everything for them.
Even if there is nothing left for me afterward.
Keep them safe, alive, and untouched by grief.
If there is only enough room for a few good things in this lifetime, let them have all of it.
I can stay outside the blessing.
Sometimes I wonder why I believe in a God who trades in barter,
as if divinity itself were fond of something so painfully human,
so modernized by man.
Why do I speak to Him like a desperate customer at a counter,
offering pieces of myself in exchange for mercy?
Why have I convinced myself that love must always be purchased with suffering?
When luck came to me, I did not just carry my luggage or travel with friends.
I carried the quiet terror of wondering what the trip would cost us in return.
I kept waiting for the balance.
For bad news.
For a phone call in the middle of the night.
For some terrible thing to happen to me so the universe would finally consider the debt paid.
I wanted something to go wrong for me.
Something painful enough to spare the rest of them.
Because I have always believed happiness behaves like a borrowed thing in our family.
That every joy must eventually be returned with interest.
And if that is true, then let the payment be me.
Let me be the thing exchanged so their futures remain bright.
Let me carry the sickness, the grief, the loss, the bad luck.
Let them keep their laughter.
Let them grow old.
Let them stay warm and alive and whole.
I think I could endure almost anything if it meant nothing bad would ever reach them.
May 24
May 24, 2026 at 2:07 AM UTC
In my life, everything arrives as an exchange.
If something good happens to me, I wait for the balance to be taken elsewhere.
A blessing for me must mean a burden for someone I love.
A door opens for me, and somewhere in the background, another one quietly closes for my mother, my father, or my brother.
I have lived with this fear for so long that even my prayers sound like negotiations.
God, make my grandparents happy.
God, guide my brother through his exams.
God, bless my mother with lighter burdens and fuller pockets.
God, keep my father healthy for many more years.
Do everything for them.
Even if there is nothing left for me afterward.
Keep them safe, alive, and untouched by grief.
If there is only enough room for a few good things in this lifetime, let them have all of it.
I can stay outside the blessing.
Sometimes I wonder why I believe in a God who trades in barter,
as if divinity itself were fond of something so painfully human,
so modernized by man.
Why do I speak to Him like a desperate customer at a counter,
offering pieces of myself in exchange for mercy?
Why have I convinced myself that love must always be purchased with suffering?
When luck came to me, I did not just carry my luggage or travel with friends.
I carried the quiet terror of wondering what the trip would cost us in return.
I kept waiting for the balance.
For bad news.
For a phone call in the middle of the night.
For some terrible thing to happen to me so the universe would finally consider the debt paid.
I wanted something to go wrong for me.
Something painful enough to spare the rest of them.
Because I have always believed happiness behaves like a borrowed thing in our family.
That every joy must eventually be returned with interest.
And if that is true, then let the payment be me.
Let me be the thing exchanged so their futures remain bright.
Let me carry the sickness, the grief, the loss, the bad luck.
Let them keep their laughter.
Let them grow old.
Let them stay warm and alive and whole.
I think I could endure almost anything if it meant nothing bad would ever reach them.