i don't want to be anyone else but myself anymore.

I used to imagined that there existed two types of people in this world. Or, in perhaps more accurate terms, there is a spectrum to which individuals could be categorized along. At one polarity are the ones born with sturdiness carved into their souls, who carry an air of ease in their laughter and a glass-like clarity about who they are meant to be. With an unflinching gaze they stare back, for confidence is as familiar to them as a mother tongue.

On the other end reside the more wobbly ones, with timid eye-contacts and laughter masked by nervousness, a nebulous idea about who they are and the spaces they are permitted to occupy. I have always known myself to belong towards latter, for I never quite felt like simply being myself could be good enough. A desperation to morph myself into the likeness of someone else has in some ways defined me all my life. This feeling of inadequacy echoes like a familiar ache, lingering throughout my adolescence as a muscle memory I am attempting to erase.

With widened eyes I watched the effortless demeanors of those residing on the other end of the spectrum — envying them for the way they comfortably nestle into who they are, their skins draping around them as though they actually fit. How liberating it must feel: to dance with ease as though I unequivocally deserve the spaces that I occupy, and to freely belong without needing to conceal my contours and edges. They appeared to be fireproof whereas my insecurities are easily set aflame. How I desired to borrow that numbness as my own and to callous over my vulnerabilities so that when rain inevitably arrives, I will only experience wetness instead of feel the entire storm drench through my skin. This sensitivity that exists as vividly as an ever-present current of electricity beneath my skin is something that I have despised myself for since becoming self aware.

But all of a sudden I remember standing amidst rushing crowds, feeling overwhelmed by the magnitude of it all. There is something about the myriad souls in co-existence as me, each one woven with an unparalleled pattern of personalities and perspectives and preferences. I became simultaneously miniaturized and magnified in light of the innumerous galaxies of individuals that I will possibly brush my shoulders against, just as I am a mere ripple yet simultaneously the vast ocean itself: as infinitesimal as a grain of sand and as infinite as the stars that were birthed since the beginning of time. Something within me trembles and solidifies: how I long to re-awaken and come vividly alive to this ordinary and unprecedented life — to the unique array of things that contain meaning to me. But how could I do so, while continuing to loathe the part of me that is the most human?

Lately I have been hearing a knocking at my soul, like homecoming through a distant wandering. A yearning to finally let go of my anxiously held fears and to anchor into something truer and more worthwhile. I know that change eventually and invariably emerges when the pain of remaining as you are eclipses the pain of evolving into something new. This is all to say that I am learning to abandon shame and carry my sensitivities with more grace. Confidence still feels like a foreign tongue but I am learning to acquaint myself with it anyway. This is all to say that it's been a long while since I felt like I could show up as the main character in my own life, but this narrative is nevertheless mine to come alive to and co-create.