When I was three years old, my parents found me different from most kids around. They took me to the hospital for diagnosis, where I was found suffering from a rare condition. According to the doctors I could die within years if I was not cured. The treatment would cost astronomical fees.

My family struggling to make ends meet then, some relatives and neighbours advised my parents to abandon me and to rear a new child. Teary-eyed, my mother refused to let go of me. In all, it took me five years to fight off the rare disorder. Thanks to the tons of drugs I had taken, I survived at any rate.

After I went to primary school, I gained a lot of weight because of the side effects of the medication. My difference turned me into a laughing stock among my classmates. They dubbed me Miss Ball and the name stuck. I often felt sad and lonely. Therefore, my confidence level then was low and I did not like talking with anyone at school.

As years went by, the medicine still had a lingering influence on me. Though my weight has stopped going up in recent years, I cannot become any slimmer. These days when I hear comments on my weight, I am just as sad, but I do not hate anyone. Instead, I smile and stay silent. If they knew the story behind my weight, I bet they would give me the thumbs-up for my triumph over fate and they would admire me for the long road I have trodden.