Sacrifice was the first step. Endurance was the next.
Akutu had made her choices, and now she had to live with them.
The long nights of studying after work. The ache of missing her father while trying to stay focused in class. The loneliness of watching others have free time while she was buried in responsibilities.
But something inside her had changed.
She wasn't just surviving anymore—she was learning to push through.
The first test of her resilience came with midterms.
She had planned her study schedule carefully, but life had other ideas.
Her tutoring job required extra hours that week. Assignments piled up. And on the night before her toughest exam, she received bad news—her father's condition had worsened.
She sat in her dorm room, books open, but the words blurred in front of her.
How was she supposed to focus when her heart was back home?
She closed the books and took a deep breath. Crying wouldn't change the situation. Quitting wouldn't help her family.
She had to keep going.
She stayed up late, pushing through her exhaustion, reviewing her notes one last time.
The next morning, she walked into the exam hall, tired but prepared.
And when the results came out, she passed.
Not just passed—she did better than she expected.
The second test came with her job.
Tutoring had been easy at first, but now the students she helped were relying on her more. They needed her to explain difficult concepts, to motivate them, to be patient even when they weren't.
One day, a student snapped at her.
"This is too hard," he said. "Maybe you're just good at this, but I'm not."
Akutu could have let the frustration get to her.
Instead, she took a deep breath. "I wasn't always good at this either. But I didn't quit."
She guided him through the problem, step by step.
By the end of the session, the student's attitude had changed. "Thanks," he muttered. "I guess I just need to keep trying."
Akutu smiled. Exactly.
The third test was mental.
One evening, when everything felt overwhelming, she found herself staring at a message her mother had sent.
"We're proud of you. Dad asks about you every day."
Tears welled in her eyes.
She wasn't home. She couldn't be there.
But she was fighting for something bigger—for her future, for her family's future.
She wiped her tears and whispered to herself, "I will make it."
And she believed it.
Resilience wasn't about never falling.
It was about getting back up every single time.
The pulleys of life had shifted once again.