There are certain memories that don’t fade with time. They don’t soften or blur at the edges. They stay sharp, almost physical, like you could reach out and touch them. For me, one of those memories starts in a small kitchen, late at night, with a pot of water rattling on the stove.
If you’ve never boiled water just to take a bath, this might sound strange. Maybe even dramatic. But if you have, you already know exactly where this story is going.
Growing up poor isn’t always about not having food or clothes. Sometimes it’s about routines that feel normal when you’re living them, but later in life, you realize how heavy they were. Back then, boiling water wasn’t a symbol of hardship. It was just… what we did.
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