LABELS

That’s not me.

Fragile. Weak. Meek. That is what they call me, but they are wrong. They are so wrong. That is not who I am—not anymore.

After all the years of constantly being buried under, of them drowning me in dirt, mud, and insults until breathing fresh air has lost its purpose of being my escape, I am finally rising. I am standing up for myself. I am brushing off their words from my shoulders, legs, and mind like they never affected me. Because now they can’t touch me. I won’t let them.

I refuse to live my life just pleasing society.

This time, if they throw sand and rocks at me, I will build myself a palace of comfort and felicity out of these, and I will not hesitate to welcome them into my humble abode. I will say, “Come in. You’ve helped me put up this beautiful castle with the tough and heavy boulders you tried to cover me in, and for that I am truly grateful.” My cheeks will probably be stained with my tears, but I will be proud of myself now, because these tears don’t symbolize my weaknesses. They represent my strengths.

Scarred. Wounded. Broken. This is what I’ve become, but I am healing. I am recovering. I am in the process of changing into someone better, and I’ve never been more accomplished.


- Jenika Gi-An C. Nero