McQueen's POV.
I was in ninth grade.
The final class in the school I attended.
And instead of feeling proud…
I was afraid.
Will I even finish?
That question followed me everywhere.
To class.
Back home.
Even into my sleep.
Will I ever go to high school?
Because in Liberia, senior high school is not just another step.
It's a higher price.
A higher burden.
A higher dream.
And my parents…
They were still trying to figure out how to feed us every day.
Some nights, I cried quietly.
Not because I was weak—
But because I could already see the ending people expected for me.
Junior high.
Stop.
That's it.
But I refused to accept that.
I did everything I could.
I studied.
Hard.
Not just to pass—but to be the best.
And I was.
At least… I should have been.
Every term, I came out on top.
But somehow, the first position always found its way to one person.
Michael Anderson.
When I asked why, they didn't even try to hide it.
"His last name starts with A. Yours is P."
I remember sitting there thinking—
So success is now arranged alphabetically?
For a moment, I wished my name was different.
Maybe if I was McQueen Anderson, life would take me more seriously.
But I couldn't change that.
Just like I couldn't choose:
My family.
My background.
My country.
Those things were decided long before I even understood what life was.
So instead of wishing…
I worked harder.
Because I knew something clearly—
If I didn't get a scholarship, my story would end here.
I didn't want that.
I didn't want a life where I stopped before I even started.
I didn't want to become another version of struggle.
Not my parents.
Not my sister.
I wanted something different.
Something more.
Be the change you wish to see.
I held onto those words like they were mine.
Like they were written for me.
So I focused.
Completely.
Boys?
I avoided them like they were exams I didn't study for.
I didn't have time for distractions.
No relationships.
No parties.
No wasting time on things that wouldn't carry me forward.
Because to me, time was not just time.
It was my only chance.
I valued it like it was gold.
Because maybe… it was.
But no matter how focused I was—
Reality didn't disappear.
I saw it every day.
In the mirror.
In my clothes.
In my home.
My school jumper had faded so much, it forgot its original color.
Green had slowly turned into something close to white.
But I still wore it.
Because what choice did I have?
Some mornings, I went to school on an empty stomach.
Not by choice.
By circumstance.
At night, I studied with candlelight.
The flame dancing like it was also struggling to survive.
Sometimes, the candle would finish before I did.
And that was the end of studying for the night.
Food?
White rice.
A little palm oil.
No pepper.
No taste.
Just something to remind your body—
You're not dying today.
And I hated it.
Not just because it was hard—
But because I knew it could become permanent.
I didn't want that life forever.
I didn't want my little brother to sit one day and ask the same questions I was asking now.
I didn't just want a change.
I needed it.
And somehow…
I had to become it.
Author Note: my friend told me something.
He said " everyone was born with their own story, some from a broken family, from poverty and we all carry our own baggage. But that doesn't define us- it becomes our problems when we don't fight to walk out of it and make our family great."
That's what V. A. Sherman told me. I said with myself and said then if I was doing one thing a day to become better I should do two and do it right or one and give it my all.
I am blessed to have met this guy in college.
And he's my buddy.
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Xoxo
Bella Angel Douglas