The Chicken Story [Short Story on Grit]

I recently told my twin sister that my biggest dream when I was five years old was to buy a whole grilled chicken and eat it myself.

I've never grown up having a lot.

We are a family of five, 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 hated it.

I still hate that memory when I think about it.

Cliché or not, everything I've been through over the last 8 10 years has the sole 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 them a beating heart.