Noor Rehman was standing at the entrance to his third grade classroom, carrying his school grades with trembling hands. Top position. Another time. His teacher smiled with joy. His peers clapped. For a brief, precious moment, the young boy imagined his ambitions of turning into a soldier—of protecting his homeland, of rendering his parents proud—were attainable.
That was a quarter year ago.
Currently, Noor is not at school. He assists his dad in the wood shop, learning to finish furniture in place of studying mathematics. His school clothes hangs in the cupboard, pristine but website idle. His textbooks sit piled in the corner, their leaves no longer turning.
Noor never failed. His parents did their absolute best. And yet, it couldn't sustain him.
This is the account of how being poor does more than restrict opportunity—it erases it totally, even for the brightest children who do everything asked of them and more.
When Top Results Isn't Sufficient
Noor Rehman's parent is employed as a craftsman in Laliyani, a compact village in Kasur, Punjab, Pakistan. He remains skilled. He remains diligent. He leaves home ahead of sunrise and returns after dark, his hands rough from years of crafting wood into items, frames, and decorations.
On productive months, he makes 20,000 rupees—around $70 USD. On lean months, less.
From that wages, his family of six people must manage:
- Monthly rent for their little home
- Groceries for four children
- Utilities (electricity, water supply, gas)
- Healthcare costs when kids become unwell
- Travel
- Clothes
- All other needs
The arithmetic of being poor are uncomplicated and unforgiving. It's never sufficient. Every coin is committed before earning it. Every selection is a decision between needs, never between necessity and luxury.
When Noor's educational costs were required—plus expenses for his brothers' and sisters' education—his father encountered an unsolvable equation. The calculations couldn't add up. They not ever do.
Some expense had to give. Someone had to forgo.
Noor, as the oldest, realized first. He remains conscientious. He remains grown-up beyond his years. He knew what his parents wouldn't say openly: his education was the outlay they could no longer afford.
He did not cry. He didn't complain. He merely arranged his uniform, set aside his learning materials, and asked his father to instruct him the trade.
Because that's what kids in financial struggle learn first—how to abandon their dreams without complaint, without overwhelming parents who are currently bearing greater weight than they can bear.