I was never the kind of girl praised for excellence.
Never the one who stood on stages for quizzes won
or medals earned on fields I never mastered.
I was never someone who could twist yarn into perfect curves
or sketch designs that fit flawlessly.
Never the one who measured with certainty,
who shaped dough with precision,
or captured anatomy with effortless beauty.
I was never the girl whose sentences flowed
as though poetry lived naturally in her hands.
But I have always been the person noticed
for the smallest acts—
for showing up.
I am someone who dreams of a moral United Nations as her path,
even when it feels impossibly distant,
when opportunities crowd in and blur her vision,
when she loses her way while still hoping
for guidance.
I am someone who knows how to fold and pair outfits
left waiting on chairs.
Someone who finds joy when her friends smile
over something she baked—
butter made with imperfect measures,
yet offered with honest delight.
I am someone who practices drawing anatomy,
who may run a few miles,
not longing for trophies
but for the chance to participate.
I am someone who would write an entire book
filled with dark pages
stained by white words.
I am someone constantly learning how to grow.
