Five days
Five more days until graduation.
Five more days until I stand on a stage wearing my school uniform, hearing my name echo through the speakers while cameras flash from different corners of the gymnasium.
And after that?
I’ll officially become a college student.
Honestly, I feel pressured. More pressured than I think I should be at eighteen.
People say graduation is supposed to feel exciting — the beginning of freedom, adulthood, dreams finally getting closer. But for me, it feels more like standing at the starting line of a marathon I never asked to run.
Because I already know what waits for me after this.
Responsibility.
Not shared responsibility.
Not “family helps family” responsibility.
Just me.
I’ll be the one carrying this family someday.
And the terrifying part is that everybody already knows it too.
My eldest sister was supposed to finish college. She was supposed to have a stable job by now, helping my mother, helping us. But life happened — or maybe poor decisions happened. She got pregnant unexpectedly, and suddenly everything changed. The future she once talked about disappeared quietly under responsibilities she wasn’t prepared for.
Then today, I found out something that made my chest feel heavier.
Before she even had my nephew, she apparently failed an entire semester and stopped attending classes without telling anyone.
An entire semester.
And my mother still doesn’t know about it even now.
But when my older brother failed one subject — just one subject — my older sister immediately told our mother about it.
I remember the tension that day. The disappointment. The anger. The way failure suddenly became public humiliation inside the house.
And now I can’t stop thinking:
How could she do that?
How could someone hide their own mistakes for years while exposing somebody else’s immediately?
Maybe that’s why I’ve become so guarded. Growing up in this family taught me that sometimes the people closest to you can also become the reason you feel trapped.
Now I’m here — the third child, the middle child, the one everyone quietly watches.
Because deep down, they already decided I’m the “hope” of the family.
And honestly?
That thought exhausts me.
I missed so many opportunities because of circumstances caused by other people’s choices.
I had a dream university once. I remember staying awake late at night searching through their admission requirements, imagining myself there, imagining a future that felt bigger than the life I currently had.
I wanted it so badly.
But then my sister got pregnant, money became tighter than ever, and suddenly dreams became luxuries we couldn’t afford anymore.
Everything started revolving around survival.
Milk. Diapers. Bills. Groceries.
And me?
I had to quietly step aside and become “understanding.”
I never even got the chance to take my dream university’s entrance exam. Not because I wasn’t capable — but because I knew the financial situation would make it impossible anyway.
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So I sacrificed before anyone even had to ask me to.
That’s the thing about being the responsible child in a struggling family. You automatically become selfless because you can see the problems clearly. You start shrinking your own wants to make space for everyone else’s needs.
And now it feels like my future no longer belongs entirely to me.
Because one day, I’ll be carrying everything.
My mother.
The bills.
The responsibilities.
The expectations.
Just me.
Sometimes I get angry thinking about it.
Not because I hate my family.
But because I’m tired of feeling like the only one truly afraid of the future.
My older siblings move through life carelessly sometimes, as if consequences eventually disappear on their own. Meanwhile, I’m over here calculating tuition fees in my head at midnight, wondering how I’m supposed to survive college while also preparing myself to become the family’s foundation.
It’s hard growing up poor with many siblings.
Harder when some of the older ones act selfish, lazy, or emotionally immature while you’re forced to grow up faster than everyone else.
There are moments when I envy people whose biggest concern is simply what course to take in college.
Meanwhile, I’m thinking about survival.
Will I succeed?
Will I fail too?
What happens if I become exhausted?
What happens if I’m not strong enough?
Because I don’t really have the luxury of falling apart.
If I fail, it feels like the entire family falls with me.
Tonight, my graduation uniform hangs neatly beside my room, prepared for five days from now. I stare at it longer than I probably should.
It’s strange.
To everyone else, it probably just looks like a school uniform.
But to me, it feels heavier than fabric.
It feels like pressure.
Expectation.
Sacrifice.
Responsibility.
And despite all of that…
I still want to keep going.
Maybe because deep inside me, there’s still that stubborn version of myself that believes life can become better than this. That maybe all the sacrifices, all the disappointments, all the pressure will someday lead somewhere meaningful.
I don’t know what my future looks like yet.
But I know this:
I’ve already carried so much at eighteen.
And somehow, I’m still standing.
