I know in my last post I spoke about my poverty…and made it seem like it was something that I sort of share with fellow students. Well, that was sort of true, if it weren’t for the fact that my family too is poor.
This puts me in the interesting position of having no one to turn to in times of financial crisis, except for federal/provincial student aid. The other day, I was at the bank and had to literally gasp at the amount in my checking account…that being in the double digits. Not only have I not paid off my tuition for the year, I have to also take care of rent and food and all the jazz required for the completion of my thesis.
You know, being in impoverished situations doesn’t bring me down as much as the memories associate with it does. My family wasn’t always this poor. We just became so after the big move to Canada. I am a trooper really…but what can erase the painful memories of neglect and dare I say, emotional abuse during my adolescent years?
I know, for a thousand times, I could be the mature one and justify that it wasn’t my parents’ fault. They didn’t know what had hit them, having lived relatively well-off their entire lives, something tells me though, this doesn’t mean they couldn’t afford me the minimum amount of moral support and encouragement needed when I, against all odds, tried to do my best in life and school, despite the rampant bullying and held my head up high. Instead, I was made to feel not good enough, in any way, and conditioned into thinking I will never ever be good enough.
Yes, it really does feel like I’ve accomplished everything on my own, but I am so dearly tired of doing it all alone.
