Maya Monologue
When I was only 4 years old, my mom died from leukemia. At that time, my dad still lived with us. He raised me until I was 6 years old, then got re-married and decided he didn’t want to take care of me anymore. His wife never liked me, which might be the reason why he left me after he got re-married. He sent me to an orphanage and I’ve never seen him again. I’m fine, I don’t need him. What I need is a new family. A family who will love me and never leave me. But I’ve been here for 5 years now, how long do I have to stay here until someone adopts me? I’ve been up since 8 am, staring up at the ceiling and thinking about my life. My birthday is in less than two weeks. Not that anyone cares, I’m just saying. I’ve had 5 birthdays here and it’s the same every year. We don’t
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This is Maya, she’s 12 just like you!”
“I’m not 12 yet.”
“Close enough, am I right?”
“Sure,” I didn’t like it here. I mean, sure, they take care of me and feed me, but I’d rather be with a family especially after 5 years of being here. I call this place an orphanage, but it isn’t really called that. At least not anymore. It used to be called Thornwell Orphanage, located in Clinton, South Carolina. Now, it’s called Thornwell Home for Children since there are rarely any orphanages in America anymore. I might be here until I’m 18, or something like that.
“Maya is new here, she just got here today. Think you can show her around?”
“Oh. Yeah, sure.” I showed her all the places she needed to know, and after crying a few times and relentlessly talking about how she got here, she wasn’t so bad. We talked about the fun times we had before coming to the orphanage, talked about what we would do once we get adopted, and got to know each other better. After the tour we ate lunch together, then headed upstairs. Her bed is on the other side of the room, but that’s okay. She got settled in, then we talked some more and I showed her my memory box.
“So, when’s your
This is Maya, she’s 12 just like you!”
“I’m not 12 yet.”
“Close enough, am I right?”
“Sure,” I didn’t like it here. I mean, sure, they take care of me and feed me, but I’d rather be with a family especially after 5 years of being here. I call this place an orphanage, but it isn’t really called that. At least not anymore. It used to be called Thornwell Orphanage, located in Clinton, South Carolina. Now, it’s called Thornwell Home for Children since there are rarely any orphanages in America anymore. I might be here until I’m 18, or something like that.
“Maya is new here, she just got here today. Think you can show her around?”
“Oh. Yeah, sure.” I showed her all the places she needed to know, and after crying a few times and relentlessly talking about how she got here, she wasn’t so bad. We talked about the fun times we had before coming to the orphanage, talked about what we would do once we get adopted, and got to know each other better. After the tour we ate lunch together, then headed upstairs. Her bed is on the other side of the room, but that’s okay. She got settled in, then we talked some more and I showed her my memory box.
“So, when’s your