Sitting at this desk, I picked up my phone to look at my bank statement, I can safely say that the reds or debits are much higher than the amount incoming.It’s not just the numbers moving but also the narrative behind every transfer. There are of course essentials like the utility bills and necessary expenses but then again I see the result of the quiet agreement I made once I stepped into my career, the understanding that my success isn't just mine.
The weight of it is exhausting because it hits you just as you’re trying to build your own foundation. I remember getting my first big pay. While my colleagues were discussing high-yield savings accounts or down payments on apartments, I was calculating how much of that raise would go toward my younger brother’s tuition, my aunt’s medical bills, those were even understandable, but then you start receiving calls from extended family and friends. You’re constantly running a race with weight in your back, you might be fast, but you’re tiring out twice as quickly as the person running beside you.
Dont get me started on how even basic things for yourself start feeling like a luxury, It creates this underlying anxiety where every personal "treat", a nice dinner out or a new pair of shoes kinda makes you feel guilty especially if you are surrounded by poverty. I find myself asking, Can I really afford this steak when my cousin back home is struggling to buy his exams form. It turns your personal wins into moments of complicated guilt. Yet, there is a flip side to this burden that I can't easily dismiss. When I look at the house my parents live in, or when I see my niece's graduation photos, I know those things wouldn't exist without my "tax." There is a deep sense of obligation that I am only here because of the sacrifices of those who came before me. I was also a product of some peoples black tax.
If I’ve made it, if I’ve managed to break through the ceiling, isn't it my duty to hold the ladder for the next person? If I don't pay it, who will? The government? We know the answer to that. This obligation creates a beautiful, yet annoying, paradox in this part of the world. I am the "safety net" for people, which is a position of immense power and pride, but also a position of immense fragility. If I stumble and fall, they all fall. It means I can’t take the same career risks others might, I can’t just quit a toxic job to "find myself" because I am the primary engine for a small community.
But then again as ive grown older I’ve had to learn (the hard way) that giving back doesn't have to mean giving everything away. I’ve started setting boundaries, like deciding I will pay for education but not for lifestyle upgrades, or setting a fixed "family fund" each month that I don't exceed. It’s a constant negotiation between my love for my people and my need to survive.
