I recently told my twin sister that when I was 5 years old, my biggest dream was to buy a whole grilled chicken and eat it myself.
I've never grown up having a lot. We are a family of 5, raised during the falling communism (or during the "rising democracy") in Bulgaria. The grilled chicken was a luxury food for us.
One grilled chicken for five. I wanted to taste the wing, the chicken leg, and some white meat. But a chicken has only two wings, two legs, and two breasts.
And we were five. So how the hell can you taste them all?
I can clearly recall how my mom ate mainly the leftovers over the chicken bones so that her three children could have more meat.
And I f*cking hated it. I still hate that memory when I think about it.
Cliché or not, everything I've been through over the last 8 years has the explicit goal of starting my own business so that I can secure my parents' financial future. Money isn't the most important in my story, but money is a significant driver when you are hungry.
Never doubt the value of someone's dream when it is inspired by the people who gave you a beating heart.
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