What if this boy was you 25 years ago?
What if you're a part of this story?
Let's get to it blurtians!
Every dawn, Aditiya walked to the small forest behind his house. His thin body shivered in the cold morning wind, while a small axe hung in his left hand. At 10 years old, he had to collect firewood to sell to neighbors. The coins he earned were for rice and painkillers for his father, who had been paralyzed after a factory accident two years ago.
Their home was a wooden hut full of holes. His father lay on a thin mattress, his legs unmoving. “Forgive Father, Son… You have to work hard because Father is useless,” his father whispered one day, his voice hoarse. Aditiya shook his head, forcing a smile. “Don’t say that, Father. I’m strong,” he replied, even though his hands were covered in blisters from chopping wood.
One day, rain poured since morning. Aditiya still went to the forest. He needed more wood because their money was almost gone. His small hands trembled as he pulled wet branches, the axe nearly slipping. Suddenly, his foot slid in the mud. He fell, and his right knee bled. He held back tears, gathering the scattered wood. “For Father… for Father…” he repeated like a prayer.
After returning, he sold the wood to Mrs. Siti’s shop. “This is only enough for half a kilo of rice,” Mrs. Siti said sadly. Aditiya sighed but thanked her. At home, his father had a fever. The medicine was gone. “Sleep, Father. I’ll cook,” he whispered, wiping his father’s forehead. That night, he cried under the house, his stomach empty and heart heavy.
The next morning, his school principal, Mr. Budi, visited. He was worried because Aditiya often missed school. His eyes turned red seeing their condition. “Why didn’t you tell us, Adit?” he asked. Aditiya looked down, ashamed. Mr. Budi left with a sad face. The next day, he returned with rice, eggs, and ointment for Aditiya’s wounds. “Don’t go to the forest alone again. It’s dangerous,” he said.
A week later, a miracle happened. Mr. Budi gathered the villagers. He told them about Aditiya’s struggle. Slowly, help arrived: some donated firewood, others brought food, and a nurse came to check his father. “We can put wires on his legs to help him practice walking,” the nurse said. Aditiya couldn’t believe it. “Really, Sir?” he asked, trembling.
Two months passed. His father could now sit in a wooden wheelchair made by villagers. Aditiya no longer went to the forest alone. Every evening, village youths helped him collect wood. The money was enough for medicine and healthy food. “We owe them so much,” his father said one night, tears falling. Aditiya hugged him tightly. “It’s okay, Father. Now we have many friends.”
Mr. Budi also arranged for Aditiya to keep studying. His classmates took turns sharing notes. Even Mrs. Siti gave him small jobs at her shop after school. “Just help arrange goods. Your pay is for books,” she said.
A year later, his father could stand with crutches. They opened a small stall selling firewood and handmade crafts from branches. Aditiya now had time to do homework and fly kites.
On his 11th birthday night, Aditiya sat on the porch. He stared at the starry sky, holding a small cake from neighbors. “Thank you, Mother… Father…” he whispered to the wind, believing his parents smiled from above.
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