Episode 1

Allana

My name is Allana Trindade, and tomorrow I'll turn 18 years old, and I want to share how my life has been an ongoing struggle. I live in the United States, in New York City, to be precise.

At the tender age of 8, I lost my parents in a car crash. They had left me with a nanny to celebrate their wedding anniversary. Before they departed, they kissed me goodnight and promised a second kiss when they returned home. So splendidly dressed were they that if I shut my eyes, I can still envision their attire from that night.

I awaited their return for my second kiss, but when their death was announced, my aunts and uncles converged at my parents' home and resolved to take me in. Thanks to a substantial inheritance left by my father, their intents were clear: live off someone else's fortune without concern. Who wouldn't want that, right?

All they needed to do was to keep the business from bankruptcy.

At 10, I contracted bacterial meningitis. The doctors managed to treat me, but it left residual effects, including the loss of hair cells in my inner ear. I am profoundly deaf now, but I can still speak and sometimes lip-read, though it requires my utmost concentration.

My aunts and uncles brought me to the physician who informed us it was irreversible. I had to learn sign language through a private instructor, but I was responsible for most of my own learning. They showed no interest in it to communicate with me.

Yet again, I find myself in solitude. I got acquainted with loneliness after my parents' demise, and my life has merely spiraled downward ever since.

Thankfully, I can still speak. I'm not mute, but people need to use sign language or write on paper to communicate with me, as few are versed in sign language. This can be somewhat irritating since I must constantly request people to help me understand, which frustrates me, despite my typically serene nature. But it occasionally wears on my patience.

By age 15, under my aunts and uncles' stewardship, my father's hard-built perfume business declared bankruptcy. Our wealth turned to ruins overnight.

Until then, I was doted upon by them. But as the funds dwindled, I turned into a burden, and that's when the mistreatment and assaults began. Every day brought new torments.

I couldn't endure it, and at 16, I decided to run away from home. Now, I reside on the streets, in a small square, to be exact.

Here, you meet all sorts, but I befriended a kind family: a couple and their 3-year-old son, Marcelo, Bia, and Noah. I help them earn money and also watch their baby.

We buy candy and sell it at traffic lights. The money we earn goes towards purchasing more candy, and the remainder buys food. We receive clothing as gifts, and Bia and I nearly share the same size, so our wardrobes are practically identical.

I usually bathe in a nearby lake, but occasionally we manage to shower at an inn—only when the owner is absent, as we'd be expelled and beaten if caught.

Since I can't hear, they communicate with me through gestures or by enunciating slowly for me to lip-read. It's often quite amusing and even makes me laugh.

Now, I'm at the traffic lights selling candy. A lavish car stops, and when I offer the sweets, the driver looks at me sternly.

Such a mood... it's downright infectious.

He says something, and I gesture I'm deaf. He rolls his eyes and shuts the window in my face.

What a fool, he has no clue what he's missing. No one sells sweets as delicious as mine on this Earth.

I finish the day with money in my pocket and an empty candy packet. Not being foolish, I often pretend to cry, disclosing my deafness, and it compels people to buy simply to assist me. I know it's wrong, but why not use it to my advantage?

I hand all the cash to Marcelo, who beams and combines it with Bia's to restock on candy and food.

I lie down on a blanket spread over the grass, unbothered by sleeping under the starry sky roof. With the captivating view, I close my eyes and drift off to sleep.

I'm awakened by Bia gently shaking me. It's bright out, though it feels quite early. I grab the candy and head to the lake for a quick bath to freshen up.

Today marks my 18th birthday; I'm an adult, at least in age.

I cleanse swiftly, slipping into the water in just my underwear, and after donning my dress, I wriggle back into my bra and panties without fully exposing myself. One may be poor but never "rotten," haha.

Running my fingers through my hair suffices as a comb. I head back to the lights to sell my candy.

Once again, that same arrogant man in his distasteful-colored car is there. I refuse to be humiliated again, so I ignore him. Yet, I notice he's stopped his vehicle and seems to be ill, gasping for air.

I'm not that cold-hearted and move closer to see if he requires assistance. He looks at me, eyes wide, desperate for air, and I feel compassion. Opening his car door, I remove his seatbelt and mime deep breathing instructions. Instead, he grips my hand tightly.

Trying to get attention, I signal for help, but the bystanders ignore the plea. Panic starts to set in, scared he might die and that it'll seem like I'm to blame.

I run to the opposite side and spot a police car across the street. Approaching, I cry out.

"Officer, I need help; there's a man over there struggling to breathe, and I don't know what to do." He begins to speak, but I cut him off. "Sorry, sir, I'm deaf; I can only talk."

They nod and rush to aid the man.

Reaching him, they find him nearly unconscious. The officers pull him out and start resuscitative maneuvers.

He begins to recover, slumped against his car. His gaze seems thankful, at least that's how it appeared at that moment.

An ambulance arrives, and he clutches my hand, motioning for me to accompany him. But I can't go. One of the officers uses sign language, asking me to join him, and I can't refuse.

I ask them to inform Bia and Marcelo, describing their appearances, and the officers just nod in response. I climb into the ambulance, holding the hand of this once scornful man.

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