When I was a child, I used to be so envious of the other kids I saw. Outside our house, on the streets, in the playground, and at school.
It's wrong to be envious—that's one of the things I learned from going to church with Mom. But I couldn't help it, especially when I saw the happy faces of kids my age.
I saw their smiles when their parents quickly gave them what they wanted.
They had pretty bags, especially those trendy ones with wheels. Mine was old and had holes. Their shoes were shiny and nice, while mine were rubber ones that easily collected dust. Their hair was smooth and silky—unlike my rough strands. They had delicious lunches and could buy anything they wanted during recess. I had to make do with the ten pesos I always brought.
And most of all, when school ended, there were people waiting at the gate to pick them up. But me? I'd just sigh and walk the road alone, clutching the strap of my worn-out bag that looked like it was ready to give out.
Still, I never lost hope. I actually found comfort walking home. It gave me time to think, especially when I saw jeeps passing by, full of people hurrying to or from work. I wanted to grow up fast—so I could earn my own money and maybe, just maybe, make our life a little better.
But fate is unpredictable. Just when my young heart was full of dreams and hope... I got hit by a car. And yes, I'll admit—it was my fault. I wasn't following the rules. I just crossed the street, not minding the slow-moving cars. I made sure there weren't too many, but suddenly, a fast, expensive car came out of nowhere.
I stared blankly as the vehicle came rushing toward me. And suddenly, my mind flashed with images—Mom crying because of Dad's drunkenness. My two siblings calling for me whenever they needed something.
And then I remembered what I overheard last night: I wasn't their real child. I always had a hunch—because I looked different from the rest of them.
Especially since I kept hearing it from neighbors, friends, and classmates. I was the only one in the family with naturally curly hair at the ends, the only one with amber-colored eyes, the only one with a sharp nose, and the only one with naturally fair skin—while the rest had tan skin.
Tsk. Maybe this is fine. At least now I won't have to worry about studying, finding a job, competing in interviews. I won't have to see Mom cry again. I won't hear my siblings ordering me around. I won't feel Dad's disturbing gaze every time he's drunk.
Why would I want to keep living, anyway?
Hm, I wonder... who would cry at my funeral?
I think... only Mom.
Friends? Maybe they'll shed shallow tears. I often felt they didn't like me anyway—especially when their crushes noticed me more than them. So petty. So young, yet already so flirtatious.
//Screeeeech!//
//Blaaaaagh!//
My young body flew. My whole body hurt, especially my head.
"Aaaaaah!! Someone got hit! Call an ambulance!!"
I ignored the chaos around me. I peacefully looked up at the blue sky.
"Haah... I can rest now, right?" I whispered to myself. I didn't know if it was blood or tears trickling down my cheek. Either way, I didn't care. I just wanted to rest, okay?
So, Lord God... I've been a good child. Next life, can you make me a princess? You gave me princess-like beauty in this life—but that's it. Next time, please make me filthy rich, okay? Please?
I admit I'm jealous of rich kids, but I was a good adopted child even when I was mistreated. I never stole, never hit those older than me. I always got high grades—I was always Top 1. Beauty and brains, and confidently beautiful with a heart.
I hope I've convinced You. In my next life, please make me rich. I promise to do lots of good deeds—with imaginary crossed fingers, I whispered in my mind.
After that monologue to the heavens, darkness slowly consumed my vision.
Um... I'm not going to Hell, right?