“The Girl Who Cried Alone” “I Just Wanted to Be Loved” “No One Asked If I Was Okay”

As far back as I can remember, I've had five siblings—two sisters and three brothers. My childhood, however, was far from easy. It was filled with pain and confusion, a series of events that I would never forget.

When I was very young, my parents divorced. Shortly after, my mom remarried. We were left behind—abandoned, in a way—by both of them. My siblings and I were sent to live with my aunt, and then, one by one, to other aunts' homes. It felt like we were passed around like unwanted possessions.

As time went on, my older brother and sister were separated from me and my younger brother. They went to live with our father, while my younger brother and I stayed with our mother and her new husband. This marked the beginning of a new chapter in my life, one where I would experience deep emotional pain and loneliness.

At just five years old, I could feel the weight of it all. I didn't fully understand what was happening, but I could sense the absence of love. I felt ignored, invisible to both my parents.

These early years were filled with suffering—mentally, emotionally, and even physically. Despite being so young, I remember it all clearly. And in many ways, those memories have stayed with me, shaping the person I would become

From Toddler to Teenager

We lived in my mother's house, along with my stepfather. In the beginning, he treated us kindly. He showed love and care, and for a while, things seemed okay. That was before he and my mother had a child together—before his true colors began to show.

I was eight years old when I started school. I did well in my studies, and my grades were something I was proud of. But over time, I noticed my stepfather showing favoritism toward his own daughter from his late wife. We attended the same school, leaving the house at 6 a.m. every morning. If I was even a minute late, he would leave me behind without a second thought. But when his daughter was late—even by more than 30 minutes—he waited patiently without saying a word.

There was unfairness everywhere. Even in small things, like lunch money. His daughter got RM2 every day. I received only 50 cents. Some days, I couldn't afford food at all and ended up hungry. I'd bring rice from home with just soy sauce, trying to trick my taste buds into thinking it was enough. I often cried quietly after school, wishing that this nightmare would finally end.

One day, I stayed behind a little after class and missed my stepfather. He had left without me. I waited for nearly two hours, hoping he would come back. When he didn't, I panicked and started walking, even though I had no idea which way to go. The sky opened up, and heavy rain poured down on me. I walked, soaked and scared, tears mixing with the rain. Eventually, I sat down beside a small bridge, exhausted and lost.

That's when a kind woman found me. She asked me why I was crying and where my parents were. I could only say that I was lost because my stepfather had left me behind at school. She took me to her home—a small, humble place with a zinc roof, barely the size of a bathroom. Despite that, the warmth and kindness inside made it feel like a palace. She had a daughter the same age as me, and they let me stay the night.

The next morning, they reported me to the police as a missing child. I was brought back home—but to my surprise, no one seemed particularly worried about me. They thanked the woman politely and, as soon as she left, turned on me. They scolded me for "wandering off" and yelled at me for not waiting for my stepfather.

I was confused. I had waited—nearly two hours. I had done my best. And yet, I was the one being blamed. The hurt I felt in that moment was deeper than I could understand. It was then that I realized something painful: sometimes, no matter how hard you try, the people you depend on the most can still make you feel invisible.

A Fragile Body, A Heavy Life

Since I was a child, I had a strange condition—something even I couldn't fully understand. If I bumped my head, fell to the ground, or felt sudden pain, my chest would start to ache deeply. Then my body would react—I'd struggle, tense up, and faint. My mother told me that when it happened, my eyes would roll up, and my body would shake. But for me, all I could see was white and black spinning together. It felt like falling into a tunnel, and after about five minutes and being splashed with water, I would slowly come back to my senses. The final sign that I was okay was when I could finally urinate again. It was terrifying, but it became part of my life.I was a quiet, shy girl with a rough voice, who cried often but could never fully express myself. I felt weak—like I didn't have the strength to stand up for myself. When I was sad, the only places I felt safe were inside a dark closet or deep in the forest, sitting beside a tree. Those were the only places I could truly hide my pain.Every day, my routine with my youngest brother was the same. We were responsible for the house chores, and they were not easy. We had to collect water from the bottom of the hill and carry it all the way up to the house. We filled large gallons, around 20kg weight and fill the water in the gallon until they were full. Then we prepared bath water for our stepfather. We cooked rice, washed dishes, swept the house, and cleaned clothes with our bare hands.Sometimes, after all the work was done, I would try to rest for a moment—just to sit down and breathe. But that's usually when my stepfather came home. If he saw us not working, he would get angry. He didn't care that the chores were already done. He would yell and force us to sit down and study until 11 p.m., even when we were already tired. Only after that were we allowed to sleep.

The Quiet Escape

By the time I turned ten, something inside me began to change. My grades started slipping. I kept failing, and I didn't even understand why. I just stopped feeling the urge to study. It was like my mind went silent. All I wanted was to sit quietly and do nothing. My notebooks, once filled with lessons, turned into sketchbooks. I filled the pages with drawings—cartoons, animals, princesses, scenery. That's when I realized I had a love for art. But while my passion grew, my grades continued to fall.One day, I stayed at my friend's house—just for a night, I thought. But that night turned into seven days. Her name was Nikki. She was Muslim, but that didn't matter. What mattered was the love I felt in her home. Her family was warm, kind, and accepting. They treated me like one of their own. We played baseball together, laughed every day, and for the first time in a long time, I felt happy. I didn't want to go back home.After a week, Nikki's mother gently asked me, "Does your mom know you're here?" I shook my head. "No," I said quietly. "They don't." She looked concerned and told me I should go home—at least let them know I was safe.Deep down, I knew she was right. But I also knew the truth: they wouldn't care that I had been missing. They would only pretend to care in front of her, just to look good.And that's exactly what happened. When I returned home with Nikki's mother, my stepfather and mother put on an act—smiling, thanking her, acting worried. But as soon as she left, the truth came out. I was scolded and beaten with a ruler across the palms of my hands.That's when I snapped.I shouted at my stepfather with everything I had buried inside me."Motherfucker! Why can't you ever be kind? Why do you treat us like this? We're just kids! We deserve love, care, and support! Is that so hard to give?"My voice shook, but I didn't stop."One day, when I'm grown up, you'll ask me for money. Just remember this moment!"Then I ran.I ran into the forest, my heart pounding, my chest heavy with anger and sadness. I sat there for hours, trying to calm myself, surrounded by trees—the only place that ever felt safe. When I finally returned home, the house was empty.I saw a cup sitting near the petrol container we used for the generator. In a moment of pain and confusion, I picked it up and drank half a cup of petrol.And then—nothing. Just darkness.

The Bell That Still Rings

I thought I had died.....

Everything went black after I drank the petrol. But when I opened my eyes, I realized I was still alive. I was lying in a hospital bed, surrounded by family members. My body was weak, my heart heavier than ever—but then I saw her.My older sister.She was standing beside me. Just seeing her made me burst into tears. I missed her more than anything. Through sobs, I begged her, "Please, take me with you. I can't stay in Mom's house anymore. Not even for one more minute."But my sister couldn't help. She was only fifteen—a child like me, without power or protection. Our mother had already sent her away to work far from home as a maid. She was just a teenager, forced to grow up too soon. And even worse, the money she earned was taken by our mother, supposedly for "savings"—but that was a lie. She used it for herself.My sister gave me a small gift before she left—a bracelet with a little bell on it. It was simple, but precious. That soft jingle became a sound of comfort, a reminder that someone still loved me. My sister had suffered too. She was also abandoned, used. But my mother... she wore a crown of sweet lies. To outsiders, she was kind and loving. But to us, her children, all we ever wanted was her love. And all she ever gave us was pain.After that, my stepfather said he couldn't take the stress of me anymore. And just like that, my mother agreed. She always followed his orders. Without hesitation, she sent me to live with my aunt, who was five months pregnant.This new place felt a little different. My grandmother lived there too, and for the first time in a long time, I felt a little bit free. No one yelled at me, no one forced me to work like a slave. I still helped—sweeping the floor, boiling water with firewood, cooking rice and fried fish. But it was different. It was choice, not punishment.Then came the day I won't forget.I had just finished cooking fried fish. I don't know why, but I picked up the heavy pan of boiling oil to move it to the table. As I lifted it, the bottom of the pan touched my finger—it burned so hot, I instantly let go. The pan tipped, and the boiling oil spilled all over my legs and thighs.I screamed.The pain was unbearable—like fire eating my skin. I dropped to the ground, crying and shaking. My grandmother froze, shocked and panicked. She didn't know what to do. My aunt rushed in and immediately poured cold water over my legs. She applied cream to cool the burn, fearing that the pain might make me faint. I was in agony, but I didn't pass out.They couldn't afford to bring me to a clinic. They told my mother, but she acted like it was nothing. Just another small problem. Eventually, when I returned to school, the smell of my infected wounds became unbearable. It was clear something was wrong.That was when the adults finally acted.They rushed me to the hospital. By then, the burns were infected. The doctor said they had to remove the infected skin immediately—to stop the infection from spreading to the bone. There was no time for anesthesia.I cried with everything in me as they peeled the skin away.I screamed from the pain, but what hurt more than my body was knowing no one had protected me. Not when I was little. Not when I was in pain. Not when I was burning.Only that little bell on my bracelet reminded me that someone still cared.

Unwanted

After the burn incident, something changed—not in a good way.My stepfather made it clear: he no longer wanted to take any responsibility for me. Not even when it came to school. He stopped asking about my studies, stopped checking if I had food, if I was okay, or even if I came home at night. It was like I had become invisible. A burden he wanted to forget.My mother didn't fight him. She never did. She followed his lead, just like always. And I, a child still healing from pain and scars—inside and out—was left to fend for myself.Even going to school became a struggle. I had to find my own way there. No one prepared food for me. No one cared whether I had clean clothes or school supplies. I walked through the days like a shadow, tired and ignored, pretending to be okay when inside I was breaking.I was just a girl, still young, still wounded—but already made to feel like I didn't belong in my own family.Would you like this chapter to also include how you kept going despite this—maybe something that gave you strength or hope during that time? You said:After that incident my stepdad don't want take responsibility for me. Even go to school, they stop cover my bill for study. And tell me to o start earn by my self like my sister at my age 12 year old.. i been send to my mom friend work as maid. With salary only RM200 and stay at they house.... But actually i feel relief to stay they because they never demand me to do things . They ask nicely what to do. And night time they ask me play game chess. That my first game i ever play.. and some of her daughter teach me to play computer game it's name the sims.. its about life.... That how i get addiction of playing.. i forget do some work because i keep play the game . To build a house for my self. That i can create my own house, buy my own stuff, get married , and have a baby... I feel the game . I wish that i can go to that game world. Until my boss saw me . Than she tell my mom. And give her some advice. U as a mother should take care of your daughter not ask her to waste her teenage life working earn money for you.. and u should shame on ur self do this. My mom have no word to reply.. she feel shame than direct bring me out from my boss house than bring ne home again. Than she look at me. And told me. Why don't i behave when working! She put the blame on me. As mu fault again. And what i always hear she say is. You always make things difficult for me. Always. I have no word to say. I just cry. I feel like i born to this world only for received suffering without ending.. what i want it's my mom proud of me. A little happy that i willing to do anything to make her proud. But there never goings to happen. Even my salary i don't even can touch. She say this money for my saving. Same word she say to my older sister.. as her daughter we trust her.. but than. Soon my older sister come back . And she don't work there anymore.. i was hAppy finally my sister will stay here .. but than my mom got other idea to send my sister go far away from city to work and stay at my aunt's house again.. this time i beg . That i could follow. Than finally my mom agreed. and let go stay with my aunt .

A Game Called Freedo

After the burn incident, my stepfather fully gave up on me. He no longer wanted to pay for anything—not even my schooling. I was just twelve years old when they told me to start earning money for myself, just like my sister had to at my age.So, my mother sent me to work as a maid for one of her friends. My salary was RM200 a month, and I had to stay at their house. But to my surprise, it wasn't bad. It was the first time I felt a little bit of peace.They never demanded too much from me. They spoke kindly, asked me nicely when they needed help. At night, instead of yelling or punishing, they invited me to play chess—a game I had never played before. It was the first time anyone ever treated me like a child, like someone who deserved to learn and enjoy life.Their daughters even taught me how to play a computer game called The Sims. It was a life simulation game where I could build my own house, buy furniture, get married, have a family—everything I couldn't have in real life. I became addicted to it. In that game, I had control. I had a happy life. I could create the world I always dreamed of. I lost track of time playing. I forgot chores. I forgot myself in that perfect little life I had created.Then one day, my boss noticed.She didn't scold me. Instead, she called my mother and gave her advice straight from the heart. She said, "You're her mother. You should take care of your daughter—not make her waste her teenage years working to earn money for you. You should be ashamed."My mother had no words.She was embarrassed. And without saying much, she came to take me home. But instead of understanding or apologizing, she looked at me coldly and said,"Why can't you behave when you work?"Once again, the blame was mine. She turned everything around on me, just like always."You always make things difficult for me."I had no words left. I just cried.All I ever wanted was for her to be proud of me. To smile at me. To say she loved me—even once. I tried so hard. I worked. I listened. I gave up being a child just to hear those words from her. But they never came.Even the little money I earned—I never touched it. Just like with my sister, my mother said she was saving it for me. And just like with my sister, I believed her. Because we wanted to trust her. Because we were her daughters.Then one day, my older sister came home. She was no longer working. I was so happy. I thought, "Finally, she's here. We'll be together again."But not for long.My mother had another plan. She decided to send my sister away again—this time far away, to stay and work at our aunt's house in the city. I was terrified to be left behind again. So I begged.

"Please, let me follow. Please don't separate us again."This time, she agreed.And just like that, I was given a second chance—to stay with my sister, to escape the pain of home, and to start a new chapter.

The New House and a Dream That Faded

When we arrived at my aunt's home, she, my uncle, and my two little nieces were already waiting. To my surprise, my older brother was there too. I felt so happy — finally, I was far away from the house full of suffering.My aunt was very religious, a strict Christian woman. Her rules had to be followed without question. We had to behave with manners and respect. Life here was tough, but it was good for me. At least here, I was learning how to become a person... and not feel like a slave.Soon after, my sister found a job at a restaurant nearby. I wished I could work too, but no one would hire me. I was still underage.So instead, I helped my aunt at home. I fetched my nieces from school, and I started serving at church as a backup singer. Some time later, I began to wonder — could I continue my studies here?I gathered the courage to ask my aunt, "Can I go back to school here?"She said it would be possible, but I needed my school documents from before. "Your mother should have them," she told me.So my aunt called my mother to ask if she could send the documents.But my mother said no.Her exact words were: "There are no more documents. And why should I send them? She'll never make it in school. It's a waste of time and money."That broke me.Why didn't my mother care about her own child? I went to the closet and cried alone.I let the dream of going back to school fade. I told myself to let it go.Maybe one day... but that dream never came true.Life went on — until one day, my sister suddenly ran away without telling anyone. No goodbye. No explanation. I was devastated.She left me... again.I stayed with my aunt for a few more years. The pain stayed too