When he arrives at school, he’s just an ordinary student. 

He steps out of his shimmering red car, perhaps better dressed than everyone else on campus, and goes over to joke with his friends. He laughs with them, about the homework they didn’t do, the girls they started texting, and the humorous happenings of the night before. When the bell rings, he walks to class, amidst a mob of his boys. 

As he arrives at the classroom door, he gives the same nod he does everyday to his teacher. 

“Hey, how’s it going,” the teacher asks. 

And everyday, he always replies “I’m doing alright, how ‘bout yourself?” 

It’s a routine that has become all too familiar to him. When he sits in class, his warm presence captivates the classroom. He smiles at everyone. He jokes with anyone unfortunate enough to make eye contact with him. He talks to his friends when the teacher turns his back, he finishes his homework which he failed to do the night before, and he raises his hand to answer the question no other student dares to answer. As he sifts seamlessly in between classes, he blends in with the other students. Walking to class, a friend or two… or maybe eight by his side. All talking about the upcoming class and the test they didn’t study for. Yet, even though he never studies, his grades are impeccable. No matter what, he finishes his homework, turns assignments in on time, and finds a way to secure another A on a test. His teachers view him as a model student. His GPA, something everyone on campus should strive for. At lunch, he never fails to die-laughing at the inventive sense of humor he shares with his friends. He eats his daily salad, cleans the table, and once again, greets another teacher with the same old “I’m alright, how ‘bout yourself?” 

When the bell finally rings to go home, he jumps on his friend's back, who gives him a piggy-back ride to his car. He shares one last smile with his friends, before he heads back home. With his younger sister in the car, he listens to his favorite songs, which have become his anthem for the present school year. When his parents ask him how his day went, he routinely says “it was fine.” But that doesn’t tell the whole story.

Because “it was fine” doesn’t capture the pressure he feels.

The pressure of being expected to lead his family, who have gone from living in straw huts with dirt floors on a small island in the Caribbean, to million dollar properties in Miami in the past 60 years. The pressure of being expected by his family to become the multi-millionaire he wishes to be. The pressure of wanting to lead his family into greatness comparable to that of the Kennedy’s. The pressure of organizing a plan for him and his cousins to follow in order to achieve their desired greatness.

Because “it was fine” doesn’t capture the burden he bears.

The burden he bears, of becoming the “man of the house” at eight years old. The burden he bears, from his older sister who passed away months before his birth. The burden he bears, of wanting to achieve the greatness she never had the opportunity to. The burden he bears, of being “the smartest of all our family.” The burden he bears, of being a father figure to his younger sister who lacks an example of how a man is supposed to behave.

Because “it was fine” doesn’t capture the sadness he feels.

The sadness he feels, of living in-between divorced parents. The sadness he feels, of never having a permanent home. The sadness he feels, having been diagnosed with clinical depression. The sadness he feels, having had a high school heartbreak that affects him every waking moment of everyday. The sadness he feels, of being stuck in love with someone who has hurt him time and time again. The sadness he feels, of loving someone “unconditionally”, when the only conditions that seem to persist always leave him in pain.

Because “it was fine” doesn’t capture the fear he has.

The fear he has, of once again, having an anxiety attack in front of seven of his friends. The fear he has, of never being able to hang out in a group again because he might sob his eyes out at any given moment. The fear he has, of not being able to control his body amid his very present anxiety. The fear he has, of his family thinking him to be weak because of these emotions he feels. The fear he has, that these emotions which have all been ushered in by heartbreak, may never dissipate.

But even with this, life continues to go on. For Father Time never stops his car, not even at a red light. As his hope diminishes that things will be good again, his PTSD continues to thrive. His PTSD continues to leak scary thoughts into his head. His PTSD continues to attack, when he catches a glimpse of that girl, everyday, at school.

But for now, he must carry on. So when the alarm goes off, he gets ready and heads to school. He stares in his rearview mirror and reminds himself that just like the last day, he can get through today as well. So he hops out of his shimmering red car, runs his hands through his hair, and walks over, to joke with his friends all over again.