As the oldest of three boys, I carry the unspoken responsibility of encouraging my younger brothers and teaching them the ropes. Whether I’m praying for them or assisting with homework, I care for them out of love. Though leading my brothers can be challenging to say the least, I press on, knowing that my efforts will benefit them further down the road. I don’t think Mi-ran could’ve said the same about her kindergarteners back in 1994, despite her contentment in being seen as more than just the daughter of a construction worker. Every day, she gave her best, teaching kids anthems about not longing the world and how many Americans each soldier killed if three shot an equal amount. However, not much time passed until Mi-ran realized that not a single lesson mattered; the children had other things to think about: food. As the sons and daughters of mostly miners, village kids lacked proper stability and nutrition. Many came only for the free, salty soup, which still failed to satisfy their starving stomachs. Eventually, students had no choice but to drop out, as they simply didn’t have the energy to perform to their best (let alone fulfill the firewood quota). By the same time the following year, the enrollment rate plunged from 50 to 15. How were students supposed to expand their minds without first feeding their tummies?
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As the oldest of three boys, I carry the unspoken responsibility of encouraging my younger brothers and teaching them the ropes. Whether I’m praying for them or assisting with homework, I care for them out of love. Though leading my brothers can be challenging to say the least, I press on, knowing that my efforts […]