Daya Maduranga

Today, as I trudged through the dusty paths under the scorching Sri Lankan sun, I couldn't help but feel the weight of responsibilities pressing down on my young shoulders. At twelve, I should be in a classroom, eagerly soaking up knowledge, but instead, I find myself tending to the land alongside my family, our once thriving farm now our lifeline in these trying times.

It's been two years since our world turned upside down with the state bankruptcy, and since then, everything has been a struggle. Gone are the carefree days of school and laughter with friends. Now, every moment is consumed by the toil of ensuring our survival.

Our plot of land, though modest, has become our sanctuary, providing us with the fruits and vegetables that sustain us. But even this blessing comes with its burdens. Every morning, before the sun has even risen, I embark on the arduous journey to the distant well, the weight of the water jug cutting into my tired arms with each step. It's a task that leaves me exhausted and drained before the day has even begun.

Yesterday was particularly difficult. As I made my weary way back home, my legs threatening to give way beneath me, a kind neighbor happened upon me. Seeing my struggle, he insisted on driving me the rest of the way, sparing me from collapse but not from the gnawing worry that this burden is too much for one so young.

But amidst the hardship, there remains a glimmer of hope in my heart. I dream of the day when our fortunes will turn, when the burdens will lessen, and I can once again walk through the doors of a school, hungry for knowledge and eager to learn. Until then, I cling to hope, my gaze fixed on a brighter tomorrow.