When I stepped onto the subway that morning, I immediately noticed a little boy—maybe seven or eight years old—sitting quietly with his hands folded tightly in his lap. He looked tired, his eyes distant, headphones in but clearly not really listening. Despite being surrounded by adults, he somehow seemed the most mature of us all.
At first, I thought he might just be having a rough day. But as the train rattled along, I noticed something different—he wasn’t accompanied by any grown-up. Just him and a bundled-up toddler, sleeping next to him under a pink blanket.
Concerned, I leaned over and asked if he was okay. I expected a shy nod or silence. Instead, he looked up and said, “Yeah, I’m just going to work. Gotta get some money to help my sister.” His voice was calm, matter-of-fact, and it caught me completely off guard.
He explained that their parents were no longer around, and it was just him, his little sister, and their grandmother now. With his grandmother’s health declining, he took on small jobs—carrying groceries, sweeping at the market—to help support them.
Listening to him, I was struck by how much responsibility he carried at such a young age. His exhaustion wasn’t just physical; it was the kind that comes from carrying burdens far heavier than a child should ever have to bear.
Continue reading on next page…