It started in line at a coffee shop. The guy behind me kept brushing my backpack with his tote bag, not enough to be aggressive, just enough to be noticeable. I turned slightly, made eye contact, gave that tight-lipped smile — the one that says, “We're both human, I forgive you, please stop.” He smiled back. And did it again. So I let him. I didn’t move. Didn’t say anything. I just stood there, rehearsing twenty polite versions of “Could you please back up a little?” in my head — none of which I actually said. When I finally got my drink, I thanked the barista too brightly and left too fast. That’s the thing about politeness. It masquerades as kindness but often performs silence. It applauds itself for not causing conflict — even if that conflict is the only way something real can happen. At some point, we learn that to be "nice" is to be inoffensive, which slowly mutates into being invisible. We trade boundaries for harmony, truth for tone, self-expression for soci...
I dwell in the spaces where shadows meet light, where questions outnumber answers. A seeker of truths buried deep, I write to unearth what lies beneath the surface. In the chaos, I find my voice. In the silence, I find myself.