I wish no one ever told me that I’m beautiful. Ever.

Because what is beauty? Is it really something you can see? Is it something you can touch?

I look in the mirror and I see a human, a woman with a face and body. I’m perfectly normal. What makes me beautiful in your eyes?

My Dear Grandmother, you told me once that my beauty is my worth. You weren’t talking about the real beauty, though. You meant the physical appearance. And people have been calling me beautiful ever since. I believe them, so I enter a room and I want to be admired, I want people to notice me, I want people to talk about me. If they don’t, my life is done. I’m done.

I put too much effort in something that doesn’t exist, in something that most of the people don’t care about. I’m drawn on a wall where you can see me, indeed, but in fact you cannot speak to me at all. I’m fake, made of paper.

I wish you never called me beautiful.

How should I live up to that now? You’ve ruined my life… You’ve ruined my life because you make me want to be beautiful. But I’m done. I won’t put a lipstick on only because society expects me to.

Have you ever felt like you said one word too much? You know, when you speak to someone you barely know and you accidentally share something personal?

I’ve done it too many times. Then I’d analyse my every word and wish that conversation had never gone that way. It makes you wonder what that person is going to think about you. Will they care? Will they pass it on to someone or forget about it?

But how else to start a friendship? You must share some of you in order to make friends with someone.

I don’t make friends easily. I’m an introvert, which means I’m usually quiet around people. It’s more difficult to get to know me. I choose words carefully and say only the necessary ones. That doesn’t mean I have nothing to say. I do. But the things I want to say don’t interest most of the people. When I start, I’m not able to stop. Then there comes a logorrhea. And the logorrhea doesn’t make any sense…

Funny thing. I speak to people, but they can’t really understand the words I’m saying. That constant overthinking the purpose of my life on this earth. (Wherever I go, whatever I do, the philosophical sh*t is always with me). Apparently, most people don’t think about it. They just live.

Whenever I feel like I shared too much from myself, I want to crawl back into my shell and disappear. I grow distant and cold to the person I confided in, and that takes me right to the very beginning. That ruins the whole idea of a friendship.

Do you like yourself? Do you like the way you look?

I know most young people struggle to accept themselves for what they are. I’m not that young anymore, though, I’ve lived with myself for a few decades now. I’ve accepted my body, finally realising that’s the only thing I was given that truly belongs to me. I’ve learned how to like some of my qualities. I’ve stopped comparing myself to others. At least, I thought so.

Women sometimes seek men who admire them, so that they could find affirmation in those men’s eyes. Sometimes these women are looking for acceptance in someone else because they don’t know how to accept themselves.

In my case, it was the opposite. I fell for a man who hadn’t seemed interested in me. I felt good with myself, but I wasn’t good in his eyes. So I started questioning my appeal. I started spending more time in front of a mirror because I wanted to look my best. I started comparing myself to the women that were around him.

Look at her. She’s much prettier than me. Her skin is smooth, her hair is shiny, her legs are longer, she’s taller, she’s more feminine, she’s mysterious. Why would he want me, if she’s much better than me?

It seemed like he’d taken everything away from me. I didn’t want to be me anymore…

Deep down I knew, though, that the thoughts were ridiculous. Why should I rely on his judgment? Why should I seek validation from him?

I’ve always been content being on my own until you came along – Kora

Why is he the first thing in my mind when I wake up? I don’t like it.

OK. It’s time to admit it. I have a big crush on him. It happens and there’s not much I can do about it.

I’ve no idea how and when it even happened. I just started talking to him more often, observing him, thinking of him. The fact that I am near him almost every day doesn’t make it easier. I try not to stare, not to seek, not to desire. I keep telling my heart that the feelings are unwanted by me, that I want them to be gone. But it doesn’t work. You cannot argue with your heart. A fight with your heart is always a lost fight.

What do I actually feel, though? What is a crush? I’ve always felt that being on my own was my destiny. I’ve never felt like I needed someone in my love life. Don’t get me wrong. I really liked the few men in my life, but it never lasted long. I had some sort of feelings for them, but they never felt… right.

Is it different this time? Have I forgotten what a romantic love is? No and no. People say that humans are social species and I agree to that. Everyone craves human contact. But for different people it looks differently. I’ve been telling myself I didn’t need anyone in my life that I actually believed in it. But my heart didn’t. Apparently. In consequence I found myself drawn to a person like him. His face was pretty and friendly, voice warm, posture welcoming, manners blameless. There is no surprise then that my dark and cold self has chosen the light and warmth which it could absorb in to my body.

Thinking of him much, I’ve already created a picture of a kind and warm man who is willing to sacrifice everything for their loved ones. A hero. A man who takes you in his strong arms and kisses you gently, hugs you when you most need it.

That picture is fake, though. I don’t know that man that well. I actually don’t know him at all. I know nothing about him apart from his warm eyes and friendly smile. That picture just came along. Showed me what I craved.

This life I’m living, it seems not to be mine. It hasn’t felt like my life for many years now.

Some things have changed in my life lately, but some have stayed the same. Maybe I’m a little bit closer to find myself.

Sometimes I live in the past, though. I miss the friends I used to have. I want to go to the places that I used to go to. I keep seeking the books that I used to hold in my hands. Except, this all is long gone.

I want so badly to get out of that maze. I want to get all the things that belong to me. Catch the wind in my backpack. Stain my favourite jeans with the ink of my wounds. Read the words aloud. Tell the whole world about scars marring my skin.

I’ve been waiting for so long. How much longer?

Jealousy is silly. Silly and unreasonable.

I watch from afar and envy lives that I’ll never possess. Such a waste of time. I watch from afar, jealous of men that I’ll never want.

When you love someone… How can you be sure that they love you back? Trust. You can’t follow them everywhere they go. You can’t forbid them to speak to other people. You can’t control them. You can’t make them love you.

I am a jealous woman. Why? Maybe because I was abandoned when I was a child. Maybe because I’ve never felt pretty. Pretty and feminine enough to be a damsel in distress for all the men who constantly want to feel useful in society. There is always someone better than you.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m perfectly alright on my own. Still, there comes the attraction and suddenly you find yourself lost in an ocean, with water filling your lungs. And you know… you’re sure that the water is deathly for you cannot breathe.

Knowing that you cannot swim and never will you be able to, you sink in it. Further and further away from the blue skies above you. And you don’t grab that chance waiting for you, until it’s too late and the only thing you can do is to collect shells from the bottom of your broken soul.

I’m sat now, crying. Jealousy and bitterness running down my spine. Will I ever touch his face?

I usually don’t care whether people like me or not. I don’t make friends with many of them. They come and go, only making you miss them.

However, there are certain people in your life whom you like and whose opinion matters to you. Then comes the fear that they might not like you back and you’re trying so much to be the best version of yourself. You want to be funny, cool and nonchalant only to be liked by that person.

But I have to be honest with myself. These people who speak to me a lot, they also speak a lot to others the same way. They don’t speak to you because they want to form a bond with you, but because it’s the way they are. They are nice to everyone, they talk to everyone but they really like no one.

I am a quiet person and I’ve been caught in that trap many times. I talk to chatty people because they talk to me, and then I feel that they are special to me. But you… you are nothing to them. Just another talking mouth.