A memory that oftentimes, as I grow older, keeps gently surfacing as a reminder is the roots of poverty where we were all kids, our parents were trying our best than to have a zinc-roof on top of our heads. The sector my abuela(grandmother) lived wasn’t exactly the slums, yet, there were many houses with zinc-roofs.

And yet, all this struggle to be something is not only systematically self-imposed, it is expected by society. You need to be something and at least earn $X amount of money to make it. Interestingly, it also depends on the culture you are in.

I don’t consider myself to be a humble person regardless of my origins. I can be awfully arrogant, flawed even. Nonetheless, I want to explore this introspection of my own self-imposed goal to the top at the cost of my own mental health.