I tried to sleep over and over, but I always failed. I was also afraid that I might suddenly have another nightmare. Instead, I walked around my room again and again. I don't understand why, whenever other people hurt me, I'm always the one who suffers.
I really wish I could become the kind of person who simply doesn't care. But the truth is, I always think too much about other people. What do they think of me? Do I look good in their eyes?
I always try to help everyone around me, but it feels like no one pays attention to how I feel. I used to try so hard to earn my parents' affection, but I never succeeded. They preferred their work to me, their own child. I even started to wonder if I wasn't their biological daughter. Luckily, that thought turned out to be wrong. I found a book filled with photos of my family, and there I found a picture from when I was just born. I was in my mother's arms, with my father sitting beside her.
It looked like the picture had been taken on the day I was born. I knew it was me because there was writing on the back with my name and birth date. I was an only child, my parents' one and only child. And yet, I felt like a complete stranger to them.
I always celebrated my birthday alone or with the servants, if they happened to be home. Like my birthdays over the past few years, which I celebrated with Auntie Nur.
Auntie Nur stayed with me, though not always, because she had a family of her own whom she naturally prioritized. As for friendships, I used to spend all my time with the children of my family's business associates because I attended an elite school. I never knew whether they genuinely cared about me or were only trying to maintain their business connections for the future.
Before transferring, I told my parents, but I was sure they never read the message I sent. I once tried going to their company because I wanted to know whether they had seen it, but a guard stopped me and told me to wait. In the end, they didn't even come out to meet me, and they wouldn't let me inside either. Instead, they called a driver to take me home. Because of that, I don't feel guilty about transferring schools like this.
The school staff knew my identity because I enrolled by donating money toward the school's construction. Before I started, I warned them to keep it a secret and treat me the same as everyone else. They had acted so well all this time that no one suspected a thing. I was incredibly relieved.
I wanted to experience what an ordinary environment was like. Would people be more sincere if they thought I had nothing? But it turned out I was still being used for something else. Not for my money, but for my intelligence and my habit of constantly helping them.
I tried to count how many times I had helped them, but there were so many that I eventually gave up. I hadn't even been there that long, yet so many things had already happened where I helped them. I feel guilty now. This behavior seems wrong. They're becoming more and more reckless and lost.
I thought that by helping them, they could live good, happy lives. Instead, they became ungrateful people. That's why I feel like they've gotten worse because of me. So I have to be the one to fix them. They need to experience hardship on their own so they can grow and change for the better in the future. That's my goal now.