It's said that life originated 3.8 billion years ago. But my origin.... well I'm not so sure. All I remember is granma Jean. My big house without any walls.
The kind people who gave me money each time I told them granma Jean was very sick, and the others who would just pretend I didn't exist.
I never had a room of my own. I slept under the stars in-front of the bakery. Granma Jean would wake me up even before the sun came up because if Mr Turner the baker saw us seated in front of his shop he would beat us up like he did to grandpa Al. He doesn't live with us anymore. Granma Jean says he left but I know he's actually dead. I saw him fall when I was little, I saw the way granma Jean cried after that. I would have been little but death couldn't fool me.
How old am I? The truth? Well I don't really know. All I know is that we are poor to the extent that we can't even afford our own food. We ask people to buy it for us. But like I said before not everyone is kind enough to do that. "Granma why are all those children wearing the same clothes and standing there for the bus every day?" I ask grandma Jean out of curiosity. She turns around and wipes her eyes expecting me not to see. But how could I deny it I saw a tear slip by. I just don't understand why that simple question could cause her so much of pain.
"Juan wake up" gramma whispered in my ears. Knowing I had no other choice but to do as I'm told I obediently got up with groggy eyes, still half asleep. "Here take this" she said giving me a white bag. Get dressed quickly. I had only 2 pairs of clothes which I washed at the public washrooms and wore alternatively. I wanted to ask her why she got me a new set of clothes but knowing better I rushed to the community hall to have a bath before the others come.
