When the wings were clipped by a piece of paper.

 Some dreams don’t die with a loud crash — they fall quietly, like feathers in the wind, leaving behind an ache that lingers for years. This is the story of the day my wings were clipped — not by failure, not by lack of ability, but by something as simple, and as cruel, as a single piece of paper ( Money).

It has been one and a half years since that day, but I still remember every moment — that day, that time, that very instant when the wings I had built with so much hard work were cut off… just because of a single piece of paper, which I did not have at that moment.

It was evening when I received a call from a friend. She asked me, “Have you taken admission in Post Basic Nursing?”

I said, “When was the admission form released?”

She told me it had been three or four days, and tomorrow was the last date.

I replied, “Alright, I will go tomorrow itself with my documents to the college where I got selected,” because I had taken the entrance exam — a big exam — and I had qualified with very good marks. My rank was excellent, and the college I got into was one of the best — a dream for many people.

I was grateful to the Almighty that I had earned it with my hard work, and that I was getting it at such a good time. I was truly happy, because I had worked very hard for it. I come from a background where my destiny was always written by others — where I was never allowed to write my own fate.

I grew up in an environment where living and growing up was itself a huge challenge. I did not live with my own family, but the family I stayed with was no less. I had been in a Child Care Institution (CCI) since childhood, where every decision of my life was made by the authorities — when to wake up, when to sleep, when to eat, when to go to school, when not to, when to stay there and when to leave…

All the choices that a normal child in their own home could make freely — I never had the option to make them myself. But the way my life was, it was okay… full of challenges — yet those challenges gave me courage and hope.

It was because of those challenges that I developed the strength to imagine myself flying in the open sky one day, like a free bird — to show everyone what I was capable of, to prove that there were no limits to my flight, no test for my sky. I wanted to silence every person who had ever looked at me and considered me helpless, to show every gardener that I was no ordinary flower that could be uprooted and thrown away like a useless weed.

I wanted to give a strong, determined reply to every word of hopelessness spoken about me. I loved myself. I kept myself strong through both sunshine and shadow. I worked very hard, and with my good rank and position, I took admission in a government college for nursing.

The CCI where I had grown up — they had been like my parents, supporting me against every arrow and storm in the past. But now I was all alone. No one was standing with me. Wherever I went, people made me feel my helplessness, my lack of resources. The moment people heard the word “orphan,” there was always a shade of pity in their eyes — something I could never stand.

I wanted to say, “I am no less than you,” but I kept myself contained. I thought, Not yet. This is not the time. I still have to do a lot, and endure much more.

During general nursing, too, I faced many challenges. Somehow, I got through them. How I managed is another story… but the point is, I did manage. I fought against every arrow, every wave, every storm — I didn’t let myself fall, I didn’t let myself become weak. I made myself strong — inside and out — every moment, every second.

My wings were finally ready — strong enough to take their first flight. But before that first flight could happen, they were cut… by a single piece of paper.

When I reached the college, my heart sank as soon as I heard the admission fee. It was beyond my means — not just beyond my capacity, but beyond even the worth of my dreams. My pockets were completely empty.

In that moment, I felt lost. My mind went blank. I didn’t understand where I was or what I was doing. It felt like the ground had been pulled out from beneath my feet — the very ground I had been pressing down for years to make it my own.

I still don’t remember how I covered the two-hour journey back home that day. But I do remember that moment when I put my hand into my pocket and felt all my strength, all my courage — everything I had carefully built — start to fall apart, piece by piece.

It was as if a small crack had appeared in a strong thread, and through that crack, one by one, all the pearls slipped away. In the same way, I saw my dreams fall apart in front of my own eyes — one after another — and I could do nothing to stop them.

I wished for a miracle, for it all to be just a bad dream from which I could wake up. But it wasn’t a dream — it was reality.

Even after one and a half years, I have not gathered enough courage to dream again, to stand up on my feet, to try flying once more with my broken wings.

I am like a wounded bird whose feathers have been plucked one by one — not even knowing where they fell. And now, even breathing feels like a struggle.

Even today, I feel as if I am still in that moment, still living that day. Sometimes I hurt myself thinking, If only I could wake up from this…

That day, I understood how important a father is in a girl’s life — especially her own father. If my father had been there, would he have watched my dreams shatter like that? I don’t think so.

That day, I truly missed my father. I screamed and complained to God, asking why it was that in this world, there are so many people who get things without even dreaming of them, while we — who dream, work hard, and do everything — are left empty-handed.

I moved ahead in life, but my soul… it is still wandering in those college corridors, knocking on those doors, waiting. Somewhere deep down, a small hope still remains — that one day, my broken dream will be fulfilled, and my feet will take me to my destination.