My life before I was 9 years old was heaven. Although I was adopted, my father loved me so much and was the apple of his eye. Whenever he went out, I was with him. We were together all of the time. For some reason back them, I already knew my mom resented me. She kept saying my dad gave me more attention than he did my 2 other sisters and a brother who were their biological children. They always got into fights because of me and in a way, they grew apart because my father always defended me. Whenever I did something wrong, my mom would shout to my face that I was adopted; something that my other siblings picked up and would also shout at me when we got into fights. I didn’t believe them though. I thought they were just jealous of me. Or maybe, I just didn’t want to believe it at that time. It didn’t matter to me then, because I had my dad. He was the world to me and I adored him.

One day, as I was walking home from school, I noticed that there were a lot of people in our driveway. It looked like there was a commotion going on. When I went inside, I found my mom crying beside my dad who was sitting on our living room sofa. His eyes were closed and his feet were propped up. I slowly came near them and a relative placed a crucifix on his chest. His eyes were closed and a tear was on one of his eyes. I realized there was something really wrong and  I tried to wake him up and an uncle gently took me away outside and told me that my father had an aneurysm.

I felt so lonely beyond words and feelings. I felt that even if  I cried a bucket of tears, it wasn’t enough. It was as if a part of me had died. The only person I leaned on to had passed on. I knew it was  going to be a different life without him, and so it became. I am no longer a baby, his baby. That very day, I turned into an adult because I knew the one person who loved me was gone.