The most important story of my childhood (or rather, the day I was born), was that the midwife from the hospital couldn’t get the pink balloon, to signify to my mother’s visitors that she gave birth to a girl. And ever since then, I felt like I wasn’t enough, like I wasn’t living up to the expectations of my family. Being surrounded with my peers, I always felt so alone, like there’s no one protecting me (like there’s someone protecting them), like I have to fight for myself. But I grew up and moved away, and with youth workers’ and mental health experts’ help, I realized that there’s nothing wrong with me and that I’m not alone.