“I’m done with school. I’m going to work. Little brother, you have to make something of yourself.”
The day my sister left home with red-rimmed eyes, I learned what it meant to be poor.
From then on, I ate only the cheapest dishes in the cafeteria, mended my clothes when they tore, and jabbed my hand with a pen tip whenever my stomach hurt.
I carved the need to succeed into my bones. Studying became my only way out.
At last, I got my acceptance letter from one of China’s top universities.
But that same day, I also received a death sentence: a diagnosis of Crohn’s disease. The medicine would cost a fortune, there was no cure, and I would have to wear an ostomy bag for the rest of my life.
At the dinner table, I pretended to be casual.
“One of my friends… was diagnosed with a terminal illness. He’s afraid it’ll drag his family down, so he doesn’t dare tell his parents.”
Mom clutched my hand tightly.
“You silly child! Don’t you dare do what he did. I’d sell everything we own to get you treated!”
Dad nodded solemnly.
“That’s right. If it were you, I’d sell my blood and kidneys to pay for your treatment.”
I believed them, and became even more afraid that I would crush our already precarious family.
After tossing and turning all night, I burned my acceptance letter and climbed to the roof.
The wind was fierce, and the fall seemed to last forever.
Long enough for me to see Mom and Dad smiling as they slipped a card into my sister’s hand.
“Sweetheart, here’s your thirty-million-yuan dowry. It’s family tradition: raise sons frugally and spoil daughters.”
My sister smiled in front of a luxurious villa, the gemstones around her neck shining so brightly they chilled me to the bone.
Only then did I understand.
They had all been pretending to be poor so they could raise their son frugally.
I was the only one who was truly poor.
So poor that I gave up my life, still thinking I was a burden.
Was this written by a fake person? What do you want to express?