Diary of a Peasant
1175Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡazF46tOY3E
Waking up to another beautiful day — stomach empty, head pounding. I feel frustrated. There is no hope for my next meal. My creditors have sent their messages. Not only do I lack, but I’m in debt.
1175Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡexWLfmfo2W
I’m desperate for money — not for myself, but to repay my debt. If anything remains, maybe I’ll find something to eat — even if it’s just bread and water.
1175Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡBc4fYev0qT
Every day, my heart skips a beat when I remember what I owe. I sleep long hours to save energy. I fear the cold and sickness — they would only add more misery to my already deplorable state.
1175Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡZNQrOY3sYy
It’s a cycle: sadness, hunger, and debt. The longing for a meal. I sleep and dream of food. When I wake, I feel the hollowness of malnutrition (not imagined — real and bitter).
1175Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡrJ9HwnpSWh
“I lack, therefore I need.” If I ever become known for a quote, let it be that. Sometimes, humour is how one copes with hunger. It soothes, but it never satisfies.
1175Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡsUaXD40YT9
My mind drifts back to the last time I had a good meal. Those moments are so rare, I can count them. A full stomach is a forgotten pleasure. I can only dream of being full.
1175Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡKUaCVarBu3
Those sleepless nights — eyes wide open, lying stomach-down on the floor. Sleep stolen, as I pay the harsh toll of hunger.
1175Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡQHuJCSSD5w
Poverty is a disease — an infection. It eats the body through malnutrition, the mind through anxiety. It dresses itself in lack and feeds on shame.
1175Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡIqGatgdTIz
My room is in such a deplorable state, i lock it- not to keep thieves out, but to keep yhem from seeing inside. It would disgust them. There's nothing to steal but shame.
1175Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡZIoXTi5Yle
1175Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡx64iIR9vx5
I look at the utensils — clean, washed, and unused. They sit piled up, crying to be of use. They now serve to fuel my imagination. I dream of cooking a hot meal — one that will quench this hunger. I am a dreamer. Yes, I dream.
1175Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ5fKGHk3Sb3
How quickly clothes fade in poverty. One walks carefully, not to spoil worn shoes. Every step is gentle.
1175Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡlJ5WQBV3hi
Ever wonder what an honest peasant thinks of? It’s not revolution. It’s not glory. It’s food. My greatest ambition is to eat to my satisfaction. That is my dream.
1175Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡsYJNDGgxsl
You may think I’m too obsessed with food. Don’t laugh. It’s the one thing that keeps me going. Without it, I will fall into the abyss of death, clutching my pitiful dream of fullness.
1175Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡciWEvwdwkM
I can boldly say: Give me food or I die. Another joke, perhaps. But one built on truth. Hunger will kill. And yet, I admire the strange creativity that poverty brings to the mind.
1175Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡnRuArFwto1
Have you heard of the paradox of peasantry? It’s when the lack, the hunger, and the debt seem to have no effect. The body appears fine. Life looks normal. But inside — we are quietly perishing.
1175Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡAdfsQyPC1g
Disgrace is part of a peasant’s life. Accepting it becomes the norm. Stand down. Don’t look up. Hide your face. I’ve learned that the hard way.
1175Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ4XP2Jev1uz
Do you want to know how peasants are treated? Less than human. A poor man is a burden to himself. How much more to society? We are a discomfort, a disgrace no one wishes to confront.
1175Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡUI1eOhv9df
Overworked and paid in crumbs. Hours of hard labour are met with sneers. Crumbs are tossed into tired hands, with eyes that say, You don’t even deserve this. To them, it’s more fitting that we work ourselves to death.
1175Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ3ZpGPB33dA
It’s not often you see men dying of hunger — but they do. Quietly, and daily. The anxiety, the longing, the distress, the discomfort — it’s worse than death itself.
1175Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ20c3jF2Cv7
What more could be said, dear diary? The experience says it all. I write not for any grand reason, but simply for the sake of writing. Perhaps there is pleasure in expressing pain. The morning is still fresh. The air, still pure.
1175Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ1VE6wbyusP
Let the peasant go now,to find his daily bread
ns216.73.216.134da2
and then Add to home screen.