I'm lucky to have a family that includes my parents and my little brother. My father used to be a mechanical engineer at a state-owned enterprise before becoming a driving instructor, and my mother is a devoted housewife who pours her heart into taking care of us.
When my little brother was born—eight years after me—my world changed. I still remember holding his tiny body in the palm of my hands and silently vowing to protect him for the rest of my life. Talking to him, watching him grow, added a richness to my life I never expected.
Although my mom can be quite talkative, I know how much she sacrifices for our family. She gives everything she has to make sure my brother and I grow up healthy and strong.
Thanks to my parents' love and care, I've grown into someone robust and socially confident, comfortable talking to both acquaintances and strangers. They've worked hard to provide everything I need materially. Most importantly, the love they show each other has taught me how to trust in others and face life with confidence.
But things weren't always this way—especially before my little brother was born.
After my mom quit her job to take care of me, the financial burden fell solely on my dad. Then, during a global economic crisis, he was laid off from his position at the state-owned enterprise. Worse, he received no compensation. This sudden loss shattered our financial stability.
I'll never forget the day I came home from school in third grade and saw my dad sitting alone, chain-smoking. He and my mom were having a fierce argument—the first I had ever seen. The air was thick with tension; I stood silently outside the door, waiting for the storm to pass.
When I finally entered, my father knelt before me, pulled me into a tight hug, and said with trembling words,
"Hua, I'm so sorry, but we can't afford to keep you in private school anymore…"
I wasn't surprised. His job at the state enterprise had been the pillar of our family's financial support. Without it, sending me to an expensive private school was impossible. I tried my best to comfort him:
"It's okay. I can go to public school. I'll earn a scholarship through sports—don't worry."
He hugged me even tighter and cried in my arms. I could feel his self-esteem shattering in that moment. He had always wanted to provide us a decent life, and now he felt like he had failed.
I said goodbye to my classmates and transferred to a public school. As expected, life there was tough. I lost many good friends and the comforts I once took for granted. I trained hard to win a sports scholarship, pushing my body to its limits.
Being in an unfamiliar environment, I began to close myself off. I didn't talk much, and my silence made me an easy target. Some classmates, especially those from wealthier families, mocked me. They laughed at my worn sportswear—I only had one set—and pinched their noses as if I smelled bad, even though I always showered right after training.
Then came the day we had to move into a different classroom because ours was being used for Sports Day preparations. After finishing my training and quickly showering, I arrived to find that all the good seats and lockers had already been taken. The only spot left was in the far corner, with the most inconvenient locker at the back.
When I opened it, I found it filled with crumpled paper balls. As I began cleaning it out, a tall, chubby boy stepped in and claimed it was his. He physically blocked me from using it. I was ready to fight—frustration boiling inside me—when I felt a soft, pale hand touch the back of my neck.
That moment changed everything.
I turned around and saw a small boy with glasses and fluffy hair. He told me kindly that I could use his locker temporarily—most of his belongings had already been taken home. He was about to leave for a month-long centralized training camp in Beijing as a representative in the National Mathematics Olympiad.
Thinking of my parents, I knew I couldn't afford to get into trouble. If I fought, they might try to transfer me again, and I couldn't let that happen. So I held back my anger and quietly put my things in the locker the boy offered, while the other kid smugly celebrated taking mine.
I wanted to thank him, but he had already left school and was on his way to the competition.
Later that day, I found a small paper frog in the locker. On it was a name written in neat handwriting:
"Ding Yi."