Noor Rehman stood at the beginning of his third grade classroom, clutching his academic report with unsteady hands. First place. Education Yet again. His instructor grinned with pride. His classmates clapped. For a short, wonderful moment, the 9-year-old boy felt his aspirations of becoming a soldier—of protecting his nation, of making his parents happy—were possible.
That was three months ago.
At present, Noor doesn't attend school. He assists his father in the carpentry workshop, practicing to finish furniture rather than studying mathematics. His uniform rests in the cupboard, unused but neat. His schoolbooks sit piled in the corner, their pages no longer flipping.
Noor didn't fail. His household did their absolute best. And even so, it wasn't enough.
This is the tale of how being poor goes beyond limiting opportunity—it destroys it wholly, even for the most talented children who do all that's required and more.
Even when Superior Performance Remains Adequate
Noor Rehman's father is employed as a craftsman in Laliyani village, a small village in Kasur district, Punjab, Pakistan. He's talented. He is hardworking. He exits home ahead of sunrise and gets home after dark, his hands worn from many years of forming wood into furniture, entries, and ornamental items.
On good months, he makes around 20,000 rupees—around $70 USD. On challenging months, less.
From that income, his household of six members must manage:
- Monthly rent for their small home
- Food for four
- Services (power, water, fuel)
- Healthcare costs when children become unwell
- Transportation
- Garments
- Additional expenses
The math of being poor are basic and brutal. Money never stretches. Every coin is committed ahead of earning it. Every choice is a selection between essentials, not once between necessity and extras.
When Noor's educational costs came due—in addition to charges for his other children's education—his father faced an unworkable equation. The figures couldn't add up. They never do.
Something had to be sacrificed. Someone had to sacrifice.
Noor, as the eldest, grasped first. He's dutiful. He is grown-up beyond his years. He realized what his parents wouldn't say aloud: his education was the outlay they could not afford.
He did not cry. He didn't complain. He merely put away his attire, set aside his books, and asked his father to teach him the trade.
Because that's what children in financial struggle learn from the start—how to relinquish their aspirations quietly, without overwhelming parents who are already bearing more than they can sustain.