On my 17th, I let my curiosity win;
On my 18th, I thought I knew everything;
On my 19th, I aspire to be every good things in life;
And in my 20s, I don’t even know what to do.

I thought each year would bring me closer to finding out a bunch of things, not to lead me further away from it.

It all started with a curiosity so big that it opened doors to countless opportunities waiting on the other side. Every opportunity felt like a new goal, and if I didn’t take it, I felt like I would lose it forever. So I said yes to almost everything. I moved with a clear vision of goals, chasing the idea of becoming everything good thing in life. It felt exciting. It felt wonderful and was a clear vision of progress.

Until one day, curiosity stopped feeling like curiosity. It turned into an endless cycle of chasing goals. I began to see myself the way I would look at a trophy shelf, measuring what I had achieved and what I should chase next. Those were the only questions that stayed in my head. And somewhere between becoming everything, I stopped asking what I actually wanted.

I slowly forgot how books smell, how pages sound when they flip, how whimsical it feels to discover a plot twist. Back then, buying myself a cup of coffee was already a kind of joy I deeply admired. But recently, I was rarely home, came back late, and even lost touch with a lot of my friends.

And suddenly, it didn’t feel like me anymore.

I didn’t lose myself all at once, it felt like a slow genuine shift. I stopped asking what I wanted. I stopped recognizing the things that once felt like me. Everything changed quietly, almost like it happened in a single click.

Then came rejection, along with the unfamiliar feeling of no longer knowing myself. I thought I knew what was best for me, until I didn’t. Things didn’t go the way I planned, and all the “perfect” plans I once held onto suddenly felt meaningless.

And strangely, it wasn’t just rejection. I found myself rejecting opportunities too. The same ones I once dreamed of, the ones I used to chase so badly. Standing in front of them, I realized I no longer felt the same urgency, the same desire. And that scared me even more.

The silence hit me harder than any storm ever could. And I found myself asking:

Who am I without all the titles and the constant hustle?
What do I actually want?
What should I do now?

The irony hit me all at once. Reading my old articles, seeing how full of hope I used to be. And it made me realize something simple, yet grounding:

I am not just a collection of achievements in a human form. I am the human itself.

Not knowing is uncomfortable, but one thing I forgot is that uncertainty is not failure. Maybe I’m not lost, maybe I’ve just stopped pretending that I have everything figured out.

And on a random Wednesday, I made a quiet decision to continue living as my most essential self.

I am no longer living for anyone else’s expectations. I choose myself in small and ordinary ways. Waking up, flipping pages, choosing intentionally. Choosing what feels right, even when it doesn’t look right to everyone else. I am allowed to build a life that feels like mine, and no one else gets to define how I should live it.

Our way would always be unknown and uncertain, and maybe that’s what makes life meaningful. If I already knew that would happen in the first place, this present wouldn’t feel like living; it would feel like waiting and not doing anything.

And if this is what my 20s look like — uncertain, unsteady, and honest — then maybe this is exactly where I’m meant to be.

So maybe I still don’t know what I should do now.
But for the first time, I think I’m finally asking the right question to myself.

Hello!
It’s been a long time since I posted my last article. And maybe this article would answer the question, I haven’t been feeling myself lately. It feels like walking through an endless maze, overwhelmed by the choice between left and right. I almost lost myself a million times, and I think what I write is kinda repetitive by now. One thing you should know, I always write for myself. That’s why what I write will always radiate some kind of “I already find out” feelings, because it actually is.

In my second decade of being alive, or we usually mention it as the 20s, I finally chose myself over anything. Thank you to anyone who always finds their way to my personal article. I hope you guys will choose yourself as well!

With love, Alia.

The saddest word in the whole wide world is the word “almost.” — Nikita Gill

In a world full of hopes and despair, we somehow still live between the “every person will bloom, like how flowers meant to bloom anyway” kind of stigma. Nevertheless, there’s a fact that we often forgot. Not every flower really blooms, some meant to be bud — in a way they will never blooms. And if some flowers never bloom, does it make them a failure or they simply grow in ways we never know how?

The way life feel so rushed and pushed us to bloom (success) as fast as we can have a way to drain us, always. And the way the expectations always grow day by day, the anxious feeling of falling behind, and any other feelings that fulfilled our heads lately. One thing we must remember is how we don’t have to bloom according to the society timeline. “X graduated in her 22nd, you must too!” “Y has already have a job in her early 20s, what about you?” “Z already set her marriage in her 25th, when will be yours?” Some people did, and in some ways, every person’s life have its different plot twist. And some people just never “blooms” in the way world defines it. If you’re feel like it, you’re not a tragedy, it’s just the way life shapes you into different and unique forms of person than the others.

But is it true that there’s a flowers that never blooms? In a human form?

Some flowers meant to bloom at several specific time only like Wijaya Kusuma that only blooms at night. Not only blooms at night, Wijaya Kusuma also only blooms once a year. And there’s several flowers remain closed forever but still live and exist in purpose.

It feels… the same. How as a human there’d be dreams that will never happens, relationship that never turns into love, and potential that left unexplored. Yet they still shape us into something, they left several things that still give us a space to shape ourselves.

We often call it almost, the moment when we come close to reaching something, but in reality it doesn’t quite turn out that way. However, sometimes the almost could be a redirection to our life. There’s so much possibilities that we can reach, but maybe sometimes our path just doesn’t aligned at all. But after the almost, we usually find another way to reach something.

And maybe, we’re not a petals that never bloom. It just we will bloom in a very unique way, in our own way.

With love, Alia.

Hari-hari panjang telah berlalu, halaman usang dari perjalanan bak kisah fiksi ini akan segera ditutup, digantikan oleh halaman baru yang masih lengang dan suci.

Hari-hari panjang telah berlalu, waktu yang kuhabiskan pun kembali kupertanyakan. Apakah itu keputusan yang benar? Apakah ini jalan yang tepat? Nyatanya, ribuan tanda tanya masih memenuhi kepalaku.

Hari-hari panjang telah berlalu, tetapi rasanya aku belum benar-benar menemukan jawaban dari segala hal, terutama tentang diri ini. Bukankah pada akhirnya kita akan sendiri? Bagaimana jika aku belum mengerti banyak hal?

Hari-hari panjang telah berlalu, entah berapa banyak rasa kasih yang tidak tersampaikan pada orang-orang disekitarku. "Terima kasih sudah berkenan berteman denganku," "Terima kasih sudah menyisihkan waktumu untukku," "Terima kasih sudah mendengarkanku," hingga, "Terima kasih sudah ada di hidupku."

Hari-hari panjang telah berlalu, banyaknya pertanyaan dan rasa tak tersampaikan ini tidak mengurangi syukurku untuk hal-hal baik yang datang di tahun ini. Memang benar, terkadang terlalu ragu dengan pilihan yang sudah kita pilih itu tidak masuk akal, lho.

“Kamu bisa tenang naik pesawat atau kendaraan lainnya tanpa tau siapa yang mengemudi, tapi kenapa selalu resah menjalani hidup padahal tau Allah yang mengatur segalanya.”

Hari-hari panjang telah berlalu, pada kesempatan dan kehidupan kedepannya, aku harap diri ini masih diberi waktu untuk terus memperbaiki diri menjadi pribadi yang lebih baik.

Hari-hari panjang telah berlalu, walau aku menutup perjalanan ini cukup terlambat, aku rasa tidak ada kata terlambat untuk bersyukur dan sejenak melihat ke belakang untuk mengetahui seberapa jauh dirimu sudah berjalan.

Cukup lama semenjak aku mempublikasikan draf-drafku di sini, terutama dalam bahasa Indonesia. Apa kabar? Ku harap hidup masih memberi kalian rasa syukur dan bahagia yang berlimpah.

Aku tergerak melalui suatu video yang secara random lewat di beranda media sosialku, ia membahas soal The Dip Theory, teori yang menggambarkan fase kehidupan dalam sebuah kurva, terutama pada kurva penurunannya.

Ada Apa dengan Kurva The Dip Theory?

Tahun 2025 merupakan tahun dengan kegiatan terpadat yang aku miliki sepanjang 19 tahun aku hidup di dunia. Aku mengisi keseharian dengan hal-hal gila, mungkin lebih familiar disebut hustle culture.

Hal yang cukup membuatku tergerak ialah fakta bahwa aku sangat jarang berlari kembali pada hal yang selalu membuatku hidup sebelumnya. Menulis seakan menjadi kegiatan yang harus kulakukan dengan sempurna agar tidak mengecewakan siapa pun audiens yang mengikutiku.

Persetan, menulis hanya butuh rasa, bukan kesempurnaan mutlak seperti yang kupikirkan dahulu.

Lalu, Apa Langkahmu Kedepannya?

Entahlah, lagi-lagi aku tidak bisa menerawang masa depan. Namun, satu hal yang pasti, aku ingin kembali menuangkan ribuan angan dan rasaku ke dalam sebuah tulisan. Merangkai jutaan kata menjadi sebuah kisah yang bisa kubaca lagi beberapa bulan kemudian.

Faktanya, 90% dari tulisanku pasti berasal dari hal yang kualami sendiri secara langsung, baru kutulis ketika momennya sudah selesai dan aku sudah cukup siap untuk merangkainya. Hal itu membuatku selalu membaca ulang tulisanku di hari-hariku yang berat, karena aku merasa, jika dulu saja aku bisa melewatinya, pasti sekarang juga bisa.

Ah, sudahlah. Aku terlalu banyak bercerita, ya? Mungkin ucapan ini cukup telat, tapi…

Selamat tahun baru

atau lebih baik kusebut

Selamat memulai awal yang baru

Kamu selalu bisa memulai kapan saja, tidak harus di tanggal 1 Januari, kok. Ini buktinya, aku baru tergerak untuk mulai menulis kembali di tanggal 18 Januari.

Sampai jumpa di perjalanan magis berikutnya!

With love, Alia.

The world can wait; what truly matters is that you don’t lose yourself while chasing it.

The Constant Rush

As humans, we know the world will never stop rotating, and neither will time. The clock keeps ticking without ever thinking to rest, and suddenly, in my late teens (and maybe early 20s), everyone seems to be chasing something. Timelines keep updating, everyone’s hanging out with their own circles, some have already achieved their goals, and the world feels too busy to walk through.

As someone who feels like the late-teen and early-20s era moves too fast, I validate my feelings of sometimes being left behind whenever I slow down. When I choose myself over social activities, I feel left behind. When I say “no” to an invitation, I feel left behind. When I cancel plans just to prioritize myself, I feel left behind. Sometimes I also feel pressured to figure it all out quickly — even though we know it’s okay not to have everything figured out at once. Then I realized, maybe we’re not moving too slow; maybe society has just become too fast.

The Pressure to Keep on Going

Whatever title or role we carry right now, we often feel the urge to stay productive. But as time goes by, toxic productivity has crept in — and somehow, people keep insisting it’s not toxic. Being busy doesn’t always mean being productive. True productivity comes with purpose and presence. Doing many things at once without considering your well-being doesn’t count as productive anyway. Once you realize that doing more doesn’t mean achieving more, it’s time to reflect on how this mindset impacts our mental health.

I understand how people our age often feel burned out because so many expectations are placed on us, as if we’re the only ones who can handle everything. This pressure drives us to do anything, literally anything, even if it means losing ourselves, our direction, or even our sanity in the process. We strive to grow and improve, but do we actually feel the impact?

One thing many forget is how social media plays a huge role in amplifying this pressure. The algorithm constantly feeds us content we often engage with, and in a way, it makes sense. That’s where self-control comes in. I came across a post recently that said, “You are what you eat,” in a metaphorical sense, meaning the content we consume daily deeply affects us. If you constantly watch gossip or drama, your life will be filled with it. The same goes for any niche you consume. Somehow, social media always finds a way to make us feel drained. For instance, when we scroll through our mutuals’ Instagram stories — even though we’re not close with most of them anymore — we subconsciously feel the urge to rush ourselves. That’s how social media quietly works beneath our mental health.

Taking a Pause

Despite every hustle and bustle the world throws at us, we don’t have to take every opportunity. We, as humans, have the clarity to distinguish what’s truly progressive and suitable for us, and what’s not. For the sake of our sanity, pausing amidst the noise is a great act of self-respect. Many people mistake pausing for quitting, when in fact, pausing simply means taking a few steps back before taking many more forward. Pausing is thinking of your own sanity. Pausing is allowing yourself to breathe, reflect, and realign before moving again.

A pause doesn’t always have to be grand; it doesn’t require traveling or buying yourself expensive things. Sometimes, a pause looks like taking the courage to go to the restroom just to have a quick cry, letting your feelings be there, and venting them immediately. A pause can be staying offline for 24 hours and returning again as a whole same person as before. A pause can be taking yourself on a walk to everywhere you wanna go. And a pause can be rediscovering boredom, staring at your ceiling for a while, and just… doing nothing.

Without realizing it, these small acts of pausing help us regain clarity and stay emotionally grounded. By pausing, you allow yourself to feel fulfilled by solitude and simply be whole again.

In The World Full of Hustle and Bustle, Slow Down

In this era, we all know that experience helps us grow into better versions of ourselves. But chasing experience doesn’t mean saying yes to everything that seems valuable. Maybe all your activities are progressive and impactful, but if they slowly take away your personal space and peace of mind, is it still growth or just exhaustion in disguise?

You can always slow your pace. There’s no rule that says you have to run just because everyone else does. Focus on meaningful growth — small steps count, too — instead of chasing constant achievements that only drain your energy. Progress isn’t always about how much you can do in a short amount of time; sometimes, it’s about how deeply you live through each thing you do. At the end of the day, we’re just human, not walking titles or endless to-do lists. We are allowed to pause, to take a breath, to exist without rushing. Real progress doesn’t always look fast-paced; sometimes it’s quiet, unseen, but consistent; the kind that happens when no one’s watching, yet still shaping you into someone stronger and more grounded.

Pausing also allows us to enjoy the present, the quiet moments we often skip when we're rushing through life. Maybe the bravest thing we can do in this restless world is to pause, even when everything and everyone tells us to keep moving. Choosing peace over pressure isn’t a weakness; it’s a rare kind of strength — the one that requires awareness, courage, and a strong sense of self. It takes maturity to realize that balance doesn’t come from doing more, but from knowing when to pause. You can balance your life and achievements, not by constantly adding to your plate, but by giving yourself the space to truly live in between. Not everyone has this level of awareness, and that’s what makes it powerful.

Happy World Mental Health Day! Kinda late to the party, but I wanted to share something that I think is currently relatable to a person in their late-teens or early 20s. I hope you guys could finally realize that it’s fine to rest and take a pause for a while :)

With love,
Alia.

Figuring out this tremendous world in our age won’t ever be easy. There will be moments when we casually wonder if we’ve done enough or feel like doing absolutely nothing. And there are days when simply waking up and carrying ourselves through our routines feels like winning a competition no one else sees. That’s when I began to realize that showing up — physically, emotionally, and mentally — is a quiet form of strength. It’s proof of responsibility, proof that I’m still trying, even when it’s hard.

Each day feels like an episode in a long-running TV series. Some days bring new arcs, while others repeat familiar plotlines with just a sprinkle of new conflict. We never really know what kind of day it’s going to be. Some days I’m brimming with excitement; others, I shut down completely. And that’s okay. We all have those silent days, the ones when we’d rather not socialize, not even move.

Sometimes we fall into the trap of thinking we need to give 100% every single day. But let’s be real, what if all I have to offer is 30% today? And what if I give that 30% with everything I’ve got? That, to me, is still giving my all. It means I’ve tried. I’ve honored my energy and still chosen to fulfill my responsibilities with what I could, even at my lowest. Here’s where showing up becomes more than just a choice; it becomes essential. Even if no one sees the effort, even if people think I’m not doing well enough, at least I’m there. In every moment. In every bit of progress. In every step. I am present.

Showing up isn’t about pretending to be okay when I’m not. It’s simpler than that. When I reply to a message that makes me anxious, that’s showing up. When I drag myself into class, even with zero energy, that’s showing up. When I face my responsibilities despite being on edge, that’s the unpolished art of showing up. It’s choosing presence despite all the mess.

In the real world, especially in college, it’s even more evident. I’ve found myself in situations where I don’t want to do anything at all, yet people still expect me to perform. Again, their expectations aren’t mine to carry, but my responsibilities are. Knowing the line between unrealistic expectations and actual responsibilities matters. So I try to show up anyway. Show up afraid. Show up tired. Show up unmotivated. Show up lazy. Just show up. It’s never about performance. It’s always about presence.

Your presence matters, even when you don’t believe it. Even the smallest things you do, like showing up to meetings, being there for a friend, answering a call, can spark something bigger. They build momentum. They cultivate resilience. They plant trust. Being present shows you’re responsible, that you have self-control, and that you know yourself enough to honor your own commitments. And maybe, just maybe, your presence will become a quiet inspiration for others as proof that consistency doesn’t require perfection. That vulnerability and effort matter more.

And sometimes, showing up isn’t for others at all. Sometimes, it’s just for myself, for the principles I believe in, for the promise I made to myself that I won’t give up. Even when I’m afraid, I must stand for myself and prove that I can still do it, afraid. Even when I’m exhausted, I must try. And even on my worst days, when I feel like I’m barely holding it together, showing up is enough.

If that’s all I can do today, then that is already more than enough.

Sometimes, we do everything we think is right — pour our heart out, show up, give our best — and still, some people won’t be satisfied. Their expectations towards us will always exist. They’ll assume, expect, and eventually tell us we’ve fallen short.

Some might say it gently,
“Wow, this is far beyond what I imagined. Thank you.”
But others might say,
“I’m disappointed. I thought you’d do better.”

What they often don’t see is how much you’ve tried. How many thoughts spun in your mind late at night, how many moments you chose to show up when you could’ve stepped away, and how much of your energy, thoughts, and intentions were poured into something they only witnessed the surface of.
They don’t always see the whole story — just the visible part, the outcome.

At some point, I realized that no matter how hard I try, I can’t meet everyone’s expectations. Not because I’m not capable, but because those expectations are not mine to carry. They’re built on personal assumptions, silent wishes, or even standards I never agreed to in the first place.

I used to take every criticism to heart — I thought if someone was unhappy with what I did, it meant I failed. But slowly, I’ve come to understand, disappointment from others doesn’t always mean wrongdoing from me. It might just mean they saw things differently. And that’s okay.

I don’t owe everyone perfection. I owe myself peace. I owe myself honesty. I owe myself rest.

There will be times when I become the “bad guy” in someone else’s story — even when I didn’t intend to be. But I can’t keep editing myself to avoid being misunderstood. That’s not living, that’s performing. And I’m still learning that being liked by everyone is not the goal. Being true to myself is.

I can’t make everyone happy. And that’s not a failure.
That’s just… being human.

With Love, Alia

I Can’t Please Everyone, and I Wasn’t Meant To was originally published in Journal Kita on Medium, where people are continuing the conversation by highlighting and responding to this story.

The beaming stars seem so close,
yet so far
Mama,
Can I reach the beaming stars?
Dance around with silly asteroids — 
Let myself glide over Saturn’s rings
Mama,
Let me be an astronomer,
So I can whisper secrets to the moon
and name constellations after my old dreams.

The beaker glass seems so fragile,
yet so strong.
Mama,
Can I stir the colors inside those beakers?
Crafting miracles from curious minds — 
Mama,
Let me be a scientist,
So I can change the world
with an elixir that is full of hope.

The quill seems so antique,
yet so valuable.
Mama,
Can I write with that quill on yellowing paper?
Let ink drip like heartbeats
from a million unspoken thoughts.
Mama,
Let me be a writer,
So that I can live immortally,
at least in the stories I left behind

The books seem so dusty,
yet hold oceans of feeling.
Mama,
Can I string words together like beads?
A billion syllables
that once stitched me whole when I was unraveling.
Mama,
Let me be a reader,
So I can mend the world
with the meanings I’ve understood.

The ceiling seems so lonely,
yet strangely vibrant.
Mama,
Can I plant stars on those ceilings?
The ones that once felt too heavy,
pressing down on my scattered thoughts — 
Let me sprinkle galaxies on the cracks,
let comets dance where silence used to echo.
Mama,
Let me be an artist,
So I can color the darkness
and turn old pain into constellations

The wind feels so invisible,
yet it carries everything.
Mama,
Can I follow where the wind hums?
Let it brush past my skin like lullabies
Mama,
Let me be a wanderer,
So I can learn how to stay
by knowing what it means to leave.

The mirror feels so honest,
yet sometimes unfamiliar.
Mama,
Can I smile at my reflection
without tracing the lines that don’t belong?
Mama,
Let me be a healer,
Not for the world,
but for the quiet echoes
folded gently between the pages of who I’ve become.

The clock ticks so slowly,
yet races when I blink.
Mama,
Can I pause the ticking just for a moment?
Not to freeze time,
but to hold it softly in my palms.
Mama,
Let me be a teenager — 
just a little bit longer.
Let me dream recklessly,
Laugh too loud,
Cry at midnight,
And love without knowing how.

Mama,
Can I just… simply live?
Exist — softly — on the edge of someone’s memory?

Mama,
Let me be…
So I can finally
fly with the wind,
become one with the petals,
and wilt with grace.

Let the last teen years play its melody,
as I sway,
once again,
one last time,
in the skin of a teenager
who dared to dream.

As eighteen walks by, nineteen comes as fast as the clock races when I blink. Nineteen, it feels weird to name those numbers. Feels like I didn’t mean to live this long, yet the universe kept pushing me on and on again.

I’m present, here. As nineteen came by, I welcomed her with my pulchritudinous smile. Gratitude and hope follow behind my smile, as I take nineteen with me.

I hate adulting, but to love, I need to live. At least a little bit more. I’m brimming with love, let me spread this love, as the nineteenth came and greets.

In my last teenage years, I tend to live my life to the fullest and dream even more.

With love, Alia.

Three months into the year, April came bearing my first rejection. And it hit me harder than I expected. I used to think rejection wasn’t a big deal for me, maybe because I rarely faced it at that moment. Maybe because I rarely experienced rejection, the kind that makes you pause and question things. I was used to things falling into place, to outcomes aligning with intentions. But this time? It felt different.

There’s this common belief that if you nail the interview, you’re in. Say the right things, show up with confidence, and the door opens. For a while, that idea made sense to me. I saw it work — again and again — and I started to believe that maybe that was the key. That maybe preparation and presence were enough to walk into any room. But over time, I’ve come to see it’s not always that simple.

But readiness isn’t always about confidence. Sometimes, it’s about depth.

This time, I wasn’t chosen. In that quiet space — between hope and outcome — where the sting settles in; I found myself wondering, “Why does this feel so heavy?” Maybe it’s because I had started to grow comfortable with things working out. Maybe I hadn’t realized how much I had come to expect certain results. Rejection has a way of shaking that comfort, reminding us that we’re always learning, always growing — and never really above disappointment.

But then I came across this phrase:

“Kesiapan bertemu dengan kesempatan.”
Readiness meets opportunity.

And suddenly, it clicked. I might’ve been confident. I might’ve practiced. But maybe — I wasn’t ready in the way that mattered. Not yet.

The beauty (and heartbreak) of life is that sometimes, we think we’re ready. But readiness isn’t about whether we want it or whether we’ve done it before. It’s about whether we’ve truly grown into the person that position, that dream, that opportunity needs.

And the wildest thing? This isn’t the first time I’ve felt this.

There have been moments where I doubted myself, but others saw something in me I couldn’t see yet in myself. I was chosen for things I didn’t feel capable of, only to grow into them later. It makes me realize: that maybe the version of ourselves that’s truly ready often exists just one step beyond our current growth.

So what did this rejection teach me?

Confidence is important, but humility matters more. That there’s no shame in not being ready yet. That when the right time comes, and when I’ve done the work, that opportunity will circle back. Or maybe something even better will come along.

And to anyone else who feels like they’ve failed just because something didn’t happen on their timeline — hey, it’s okay. You’re not behind. You’re just becoming.

As for me, I’m still learning. Still showing up. Still growing into the kind of person that will be ready tomorrow or even sooner.

Because one day, readiness will meet opportunity — and I’ll be more than prepared to say yes.

Sincerely, Alia.

“I remember you love this coffee, so I bought you one.”
“Look at this cute duck picture! It reminded me of you!”
“You’re going to that library? I’m sure you’ll love it — I know how much you love books!”

I’ve always wondered how people build and manage friendships. How do they stay close despite time and distance? How can siblings return to normal after countless fights? And more importantly, how do we recognize love when it doesn’t always come in the way we expect?

“Love is everywhere” — a phrase that lingers in my mind. Love exists in family, friendships, fleeting moments, and places we least expect. It’s in the way a friend saves you a seat, the way someone remembers your name, or the way a stranger holds the door open for you. It’s in the way your parents quietly check in on you, even if you don’t always notice.

Not everyone expresses love in words, and not everyone receives love in the same way. Love is in the details — the way someone remembers your favorite drink, checks if you’ve eaten, sends you something that reminds them of you, or simply looks forward to seeing you again. I used to think love needed to be grand to be real, but over time, I started to notice it in the smallest, quietest moments. Like when my friend stayed up late to help me finish an assignment. Or when someone told me, “Take care,” and genuinely meant it.

That’s why love is everywhere. You don’t need to hear the words “I love you” every day to be loved. Sometimes, love is silent, tucked within the smallest gestures. Sometimes, it’s just knowing someone is there. And sometimes, simply being here is proof enough that you are loved.

With love, Alia

A mirror stands in the corner of my room. I stare at it once, then twice. I see a familiar reflection, yet I feel detached. I realize that the mirror reflects me, but the longer I look, the more I notice the flaws, the imperfections, the hesitations, the fears — every crack that has always been there.

Is this how I am perceived?
Have I always been like this?
Who am I, really?

Maybe I’m just nothing, pretending to be something.

“I know it’s hard to admit, but I guess this is me.”

Then someone comes along and tells me about myself. I’m taken aback to know that they don’t see the flaws I fixate on, the fears I hold, or the hesitations that consume me. They see light, even when I insist I’m trapped in shadows — the place where all I notice is imperfection.

“You’re never a nothing, you’ve always been a something!”

Somehow, I still can’t bring myself to believe that people see me in ways I didn’t. Why do they trust in my capabilities when all I see are shortcomings? I was so sure that no one would ever see me that way, that they would refuse to. The mirror always shows the truth, doesn’t it? And yet —

What if the mirror only shows what I expect to see, not what’s actually there?
What if all I allow myself to see are flaws and imperfections?

If I could borrow someone else’s eyes for a moment — if I could see myself the way they do — what would I see? Would I see possibilities instead of fears? Would I see the version of myself they keep telling me exists? Would I finally notice the light I’ve spent so long denying?

I usually wonder, how many versions of me exist in people’s lives? But maybe that’s the point of uncertainty. I will never see myself the way others do. I will never step outside of my own perception of myself. But maybe — just maybe — I can start believing that they’re not wrong. Maybe what they see in me is the actual me — at least, the me that exists beyond my own mind.
And maybe, the mirror is just one truth.
Not the only one.

With love, Alia.

The Mirror Shows One Thing, but They See Another was originally published in Journal Kita on Medium, where people are continuing the conversation by highlighting and responding to this story.