When I Felt Being Me

To the girl who was never like this, yet somehow became the person she feared most…..until, one day, she found her way back to herself. Changes occurred within, but that was okay. Just like the moon, she was scarred, yet still the symbol of ultimate beauty. 

“Ah, I am so bad with words. I am a total failure,” I said, disgust written all over my face.

“What happened?” the inner voice asked me, as it always did. 

“I don’t know, but this doesn’t satisfy me enough. Why can’t I be perfect at things?” Exhaustion wrapped itself around me completely. 

“It is good, girl. Those scars make it prettier. Just look at it carefully.” 

“I don’t know… maybe I should ask for an opinion.” 

“Why don’t you just sit and listen to me?” 

The idea felt uncertain, yet I stood up and took the chair placed in front of the mirror. 

“Speak up already,” I said, as usual.

“Close your eyes. Let me take you away.” 

I closed my eyes—and when I opened them again, the same chair stood before me. How could I ever forget it? The old wooden chair and table where entire days had slipped away—reading, writing, drawing, eating. Lost in the moment, a girl suddenly rushed into the room and dropped into the chair. It was as though she were sitting right on my lap, completely unaware of my presence.

Brown eyes held a quiet charm, shimmering softly beneath a smile that felt impossibly pure. Stray strands slipped from her braided hair, and her fingers tucked them back behind her ears unconsciously, as if by instinct. 

“But why all this excitement?” I wondered. Yet, in the very next moment, that same spark lit up my eyes, and that same smile found its way onto my lips. A pink diary opened, its pages filling with words: 

“Dear Sabrina! You know what just happened today? 

I was sitting in class all alone—but forget that, because today 

I am so happy. You know what? Listen—wait, you can’t. 

So read it… oh wait, I’m so dumb. How can you read when I’m the one writing? Hahaha. 

I sat alone and created a whole new story—yessssss! 

I’m so excited to write it for you, and one day I’ll publish it. 

You’re my best friend. I can tell you everything, and you listen. 

I never want us to be separated. I love you so much. 

Okay, now I’m going to write it.” 

Those words never lie.

Watching that smile felt like witnessing someone conquer an entire world—and in truth, that world existed right there. Turning the page, a rough summary appeared, scribbled hurriedly, as if she feared that every word might vanish the next second. 

“What should the title be… umm?” the voice wondered aloud. “It has love, fantasy, a world that lives inside me. It’s my first novel—I should name it something good.” 

The pen paused. Eyes widened. Then, at the top of the page, the words appeared: 

World of Fantasy 

That smile was never meant to fade. It was the kind of smile that made you feel like you had already won. She closed the diary and gently pressed her lips against its cover, as if kissing the greatest treasure imaginable. A few moments later, she placed it back in its usual spot—the old wooden cupboard embedded in the wall.

The TV flickered on, the sound of cartoons filling the room, while her mind wandered elsewhere—imagining a book, bearing the same name, held proudly as applause filled the air. Watching this version felt peaceful. There was no stress, no pressure—just pure joy. And truly, the world she had created had always remained safe in those hands.

I closed my eyes again, absorbing the room once more. Then came a sound—cold, tense, wrong. When I opened my eyes, the same place was still there, the same figure sitting before me—but time had rushed forward. She had grown too fast. The sparkle was gone. Silence replaced excitement. Her posture felt heavy, as if something unseen were poisoning every movement, slowly stealing her strength. 

Sitting nearby, I watched her closely. Skin dulled. Hair thinned. And her smile—gone. It shouldn’t have disappeared. 

A sharp sound broke the moment. Her eyes widened as a hand struck her cheek, redness blooming instantly across her skin, while fingers tangled tightly in her hair. 

“Why is it always me? I worked so hard—then why not me? Why does everyone use me and leave, yet make me believe I’m the wrong one? Why am I even living? I want to die. I just want to go back,” the whisper trembled. 

Tears burned my eyes. Crying felt necessary—but my gaze remained dry, weighed down by pain too heavy to release. All I wanted was to run forward, wrap my arms tight, warm the frozen heart, and let everything spill out. 

Pain forced my eyes shut. When they opened again, I stood face to face with the truth. 

“Remember me?” 

“Never forget.” 

“Then what have you become? Did you ever think about me?”

“I haven’t changed,” I argued, unable to meet that stare. 

“I learned no one stays forever. They come, they remain, and they leave. After everything, look at what we became—a demon we once feared. Promises were made and never kept.” 

“I became brave—” 

“But not happy.” 

Silence followed. Collapsing inward, tears finally fell. Then small footsteps approached. A child appeared, moving slowly closer, sitting beside me, tiny hands wiping away tears. 

Breathing stopped. 

“Are you okay?” 

“I don’t know… maybe yes, maybe no.” 

“It’s okay. Perfection was never real.” 

A smile appeared—soft, familiar. It broke me. 

“I’m sorry. I failed you. I failed myself.” 

After a pause, a gentle voice spoke again: 

“I once wanted to make a flower. I folded paper a hundred times, followed every tutorial—but it didn’t work. Then I tried something else. Wrapped the petals with thread around a pencil. I was so happy. I showed myself the path. You already have the petals. Stop following tutorials. Be me. Look closely—the path is near.”

Smiles met. 

“I miss you. Will you come back?” 

“I never left.” A finger tapped my heart. 

An embrace followed. Eyes closed. When they opened again, the mirror reflected only one figure—smiling. 

Standing up, I picked up the pen. After a long time, the pink diary opened again. 

“Dear Sabrina! I am back. Did you miss me or not?”