Today isn’t my first appearance here. I wonder what you—if you were already with me even before this piece—were thinking when you saw my page with a “coming soon” designation when more than ten letters were already posted before. That is assuming you ever saw it at all.
To say the least, I decided to alter this publication, but there’s more to the changes because there’s a reason you might relate to.
One morning ago, I came across a post showing footage of a girl being kidnapped with a witness in front, but it was of no use because she stayed only as a witness. Standing on the porch of her house, the screams for help were disturbing enough for the lady to clutch her dress, but not enough to make her do anything other than watch from a reachable distance.
Bystander effect, I thought. If you’re in school, this isn’t a concept you haven’t touched on yet. As a matter of fact, this is something that’s constantly happening around us to be oblivious about. Minor bullying, such as insulting remarks and taking advantage of peers with little to no reputation, is what the school will always try to take down but will never triumphantly do. This approach to events extends beyond classrooms and halls, and the worst one yet is the post I saw.
Later that day, I opened my email to read sent articles.
’s post headed “eldest daughter syndrome” was the one that intrigued me the most, so I read it. Aside from the masterfully crafted written work, what I loved the most about her piece was the way it was designed: the photo choice, the colors, the quotes, and the additional information.When I visited her page, I envied how it looked. Not because of how appealing the visuals were, but because each post exuded a strong sense of self. Hers was a vibrant reflection of her interests; each post seemed to whisper her story. When I redirected back to my page, the separation of the two struck me with a realization.
Comparing our pages revealed that I had constrained myself to a system I didn’t want, foregoing the freedom of self-expression for some ridiculous entitlement of being known for one thing: my brown-old vintage aesthetic. I confined my photo selection to brown palettes only, sacrificing accuracy for aesthetics.
What’s worse was the way I acted. I am young, I’m gonna admit that. Before, I didn’t. I tried fitting in with writers who were 20 years older than me. I acted old and experienced in my communications with them. I acted like a dying lady, who writes in her journal the moment she wakes up and the minute before she sleeps, in my writing. Although my voice is natural most of the time, I was unable to escape the strictness. Everything felt forced, well, I felt forced. Perhaps for others it appeared good, but I know for myself I didn’t feel good. It was why I was slowly losing grip on passion for writing here.
I'm sure other writers have done what Elle has done, but it was she who pushed me to pursue my own art. I clicked on my settings—and boom! Now you're seeing this.
If she hadn't been so distinctive, if she had simply followed the standard write-then-send protocol like the majority of the others, I believe I would have continued down paths opposite to where I wanted to go, down to some dark destination where only void could be felt.
Most of us are only waiting for someone to make the first move and take the lead. But what if the one you’re waiting for is also waiting for you? Isn’t this the problem of two people who secretly like each other? Both would wait for the other to make a move, waiting, waiting, waiting... until a new character had come in between.
So, if the absence of a move, sign, or lead has been holding you back from pursuing one great thing right now, let this be the hand to push you. If the absence of a move, sign, or lead has held someone else back, or if there is a scene going on and everyone else is less than a human and more of an air, be the dagger that breaks through.
I hope at some point you needed to read this, and I hope one day you will be what the others needed—more than a witness.
I always find myself using strict language too, it's such a hard habit to break! I blame university.