Story Time: I didn’t mind, As long as it was beautiful

Artwork by Maria Erika

There was once a girl who realized that her face didn’t feel like hers. With a deep sigh, she stepped closer to the mirror. Every corner of her face was woven with words she didn’t recall—words her parents told her about who she is, words her teachers told her about how to behave, words the people around her told her about what she should want, what she should pursue, what she should become, and what she should believe in.

She looked at them with a sigh.

It was a checkerboard of expectations.

She sank in despair and disappointment. “Nothing makes sense.” she told herself. As she shed a single drop of tear, a word almost fell from her eyes. She took a good look at it. It was a word that used to be part of her features.

As she stood, she picked up a small gentle flower. She returned the word back into her eyes, tucking it beside the small flower she just recently picked. The word began to swell, and bursts of color began to appear. She then began her quiet rebellion.

She pulled the peeling paint on her skin, exposing new noisy colors.

Harsh colors of her old memory.
Vibrant, dreamy colors she used to paint as a child.
Brushstrokes she used when she once wrote an old story.

Her hands were steady, trying to rearrange the words on her face. Removing the words she didn’t need, choosing the words worth keeping—sculpting herself anew.

She then understood that identity isn’t something we find; it is something we make.

As she stepped back, she looked neither complete nor finished.
Her eyes widened, admiring the new look she had found within herself.