This was previously published in our September 2025 issue.
I strutted down the gap between the bed frame and closet door, each step vibrating against the cold tile floor. The mismatched pajama set I wore swayed like a gown amidst a runway. My sister stationed near the plastic tubs of clothing we had stashed to the side of the room, and my brother lay at the bottom of the bed, capturing the proper angle with only a large camera. As kids with unrestricted internet access, that’s how my siblings and I passed our time, running a YouTube channel called “PJ 7 News.”
Nearly 10 years after the recording of those videos, I cringe looking back at them.
At the same time, I can’t help but admire her. Her, the younger version of me, who wasn’t afraid of being herself.
It’s a lesson every socially-awkward child learns: the louder you are, the stranger you become. It’s in the pitiful laugh when you ask to sit next to your classmates at lunch, the repeated rejec- tions during group-project time, or the inside jokes you never quite understood. Like gravity, that once confident news anchor fell into her new role of the quiet, awkward child, hoping for peer acceptance if she were just a little more invisible.
Fear of judgment drove every decision. Wear baggy clothes to hide yourself. Lower your voice. Be only a whisper in the wind. All my unspoken words became written ones as I filled pages and pages of thoughts and opinions my voice couldn’t express.
Yet, I was afraid one day I would truly be invisible, be forgotten: I needed to prove my existence. A simple desire, yet it built the very foundation of who I wanted to become.
It’s a thought that had never crossed my mind before. I never wanted to become anything, I simply just was; who- ever was convenient, whoever was safe. Writing gave me an outlet to process my experiences, transforming from simple documentation to careful reflections. Through these words, I found motivation to become more than I was. More than an anonymous observer watching through the screen. Back into the long vacated spotlight.
It was terrifying. I overthought every conversation, every joke, every weird facial expression directed my way — but, every new person I met, every new club I joined and hobby I began made these little things feel more trivial. It was like the spotlight was growing beyond just myself, into something new: just light.
Now in my senior year of high school, I’ll still look back at my 7-year-old self and her unwavering confidence as inspiration through my future journey— the girl who proved that, deep down, I’ve always had the courage to be myself.
