I am Zoye

It's not my job to hurt anyone. I'm just here to talk about myself. Maybe it would be a great blessing if you like my words and support me.

I will only speak about myself here. If you ever agree with me, please let me know in the comments.

No baby can speak at birth, and I was no different. When a person is born into this world, they have no way of knowing whether they were born into a wealthy family or a poor one. But slowly, as they begin to grow and recognize the light around them, they start to understand the world they’ve come into.

I too began to realize—where I was born, what kind of environment I was in, what my name was, who was in my family. I began to wonder: What kind of person is my father? How is my mother? What is the condition of our household?

I don’t consider it my misfortune that my father was poor. In fact, I consider it my greatest fortune—because my parents loved me deeply. I never felt the sting of poverty back then, because my father never let me feel it. Even if he had to shed his sweat and blood, he would meet my needs without hesitation.

Just as wealthy parents love their children, poor parents love theirs just as deeply.

Perhaps the only difference lies in what they are able to give—not in how much they love.

Although I currently live in America, I am not an American. I am Asian—a citizen of Bangladesh.

One morning, I woke up to find my father getting ready for work. Before leaving, he was sitting and chatting with my mother. I overheard him telling her,

“I will send my little princess to school.”

Hearing that, my mother seemed overwhelmed with emotion. She replied,

“I wanted to tell you the same thing, but I didn’t have the courage because of our poverty and struggles.”

Since the day I was born, I saw how deeply my mother respected and loved my father. And now, my father was saying,

“My little girl will go to school, she’ll study, she’ll become something big—maybe a doctor or an engineer—and one day, she will take away all our sorrows.”

At that age, I didn’t understand what life really meant. All I knew was that when my friends went to school and I couldn’t, it made me feel terribly sad.

But the day my father said he would send me to school, I was overwhelmed with joy. I ran to him, hugged him tightly, kissed his cheek and said,

“Then you have to buy me a school bag, right, father?”

My father held me close and said,

“Not just a school bag, my love—I’ll buy you books, notebooks, pens, everything you need. And every day before school, you’ll get 5 taka from your mother to take with you.”

Then he kissed my forehead and said,

“I’m going to work now. Don’t be naughty, and listen to your mother.”

And with that, he left for work. I stood there for a moment watching him go. When I turned around, I saw my mother standing behind me with her hand on my shoulder. She picked me up in her arms, kissed me, and said,

“Sweetheart, come eat something.”

She fried an egg for me and mixed it with rice and vegetables, making it with such love and care, then sat down to feed me.

As I ate, I asked her,

“Ma, when will tomorrow come? I’ll go to school with Father. I’ll play with new friends. I’ll have my own school bag!”

I couldn’t even describe my obsession with having a school bag. Whenever my playmates walked off to school with their bags on their backs, I’d just stand there watching them go, dreaming silently—

If only I could go to school too…

Anyway, evening came. My father returned home from work, bathed, and took me to the market. We went to a bag shop, and he said,

“Choose whichever bag you like, my little one.”

There were many bags lined up on the shelves. From among them, I chose one and said,

“Father, I want this one.”

He asked the shopkeeper about the price. After hearing it, he turned to me and said,

“Not this one, sweetheart. It’s not a good one. Let’s choose a different bag.”

My heart sank a little. He had told me to choose, and now he was saying the bag wasn’t good.

At the time, I didn’t understand why.

Do you understand why?

You can tell me your thoughts. After that, Father didn’t ask me to choose again. Instead, he spoke to the shopkeeper and selected a bag himself. He handed it to me and said,

“How do you like this one, my dear? This one will look lovely on you.”

The shopkeeper nodded in agreement. I didn’t really understand much, but something inside told me:

If I say I don’t like this bag, Baba might feel sad.

So I smiled brightly and said,

“Father, I love it!”

He lifted me up in his arms and carried me out of the shop. On the way home, he bought me a five-taka lozenge.

When we got home, Ma was so happy to see me with my school bag.

That night, I couldn’t sleep. I kept thinking—

When will it be morning? When will I finally go to school?

Even though it felt like night would never end, somehow it passed.

Morning came.

That day, Father didn’t go to work. He took me to school.

And what happened after that...

Let me tell you another day.

Because whenever I remember those moments, my heart fills with joy…

And my eyes, with tears.

I was trembling as I said the last words…

Right now, only one scene is floating before my eyes—the school bag held in my father’s busy hands, the rice soaked in the smell of fried eggs on my mother’s lap, and my rushed childhood…

I know that many of you may find yourself reading this.

But today…

I can’t take it anymore.

My heart is so bad, so heavy, as if I have returned to that young age.

Today, I am again immersed in that story of crying in my chest, that not getting it, those tears, and the small bag bought with my father’s sweat.

So I’m stopping here today. But I promise… I will return again in “Zoye 2”. That story is not incomplete—rather, it is just the beginning. The next chapter will be more stirring, more real, more heart-touching.

I want you to be with me.

If your heart is also filled with sorrow, if you are even slightly moved by reading this text—

Then you must read “Zoye 2”.

Until then—like my little girl, I will wait, Like walking on the school path in the morning light, hoping for a future…