The Observer
When my parents told me to be patient and take each moment as it unfolded, I thought they didn’t like me. I felt they wanted to keep me under their shadow to exercise control over me. Little did I know they were preparing me for the challenges ahead. I hated hearing my name called from every corner of the house whenever something went wrong. I felt like the black sheep among the whites in the neighborhood.
Everyone in the area pointed fingers at me whenever something went wrong, even if I was nowhere near the scene. I felt devastated, and over time, I began to lose my confidence. I could no longer excel at the things I once did best, becoming a shadow of my former self. Dejection and depression began to take hold. Yet, one thing remained constant, though I only realized it later in life—my parents always stood by me and showed me care.
During my mid-teens, when I started withdrawing into myself, some people assumed I was planning something terrible that would shake the neighborhood, if not the entire country. I remember when a mob attacked an alleged thief in our area. When the police arrived to investigate, everyone accused me of the crime. To their surprise, the police discovered I had been in boarding school for nearly three months and hadn’t been home.
