This I Believe

Sometimes it is the childhood memories that make up the root of belief. However, for me it was an unexpected college experience that made me realize what I believe.

My best friend from childhood and I were sitting in her dorm room. The hideous puce tiles of the floor were scuffed and dirty, while the pin boards by her desk were peeling from the walls. I don’t remember why we were there. We never really hung out in her room; we had always just hung out in my dorm building. I think she had asked me to come over so we could talk.

We were chilling, not really saying much. Then, she opened her heart to me.

 

She had spoken so quietly, I was certain I had heard her incorrectly. My best friend of eight plus years had just said:

“I’m envious of you. I wish I were more like you.”

Sitting in that squeaky desk chair in her dorm room, I was completely at a loss for words. Her sad brown eyes stared down at her fidgeting fingers, the long blonde hair hiding half of her face from me. I wanted to console her, to tell her she should not be envious of me and she should definitely not wish to be me. But I could only sit, dumb.

Why? Why was she envious of me? I am no one special. I am simply me.

In that moment, those few short seconds after my friend’s declaration of envy, I realized just what I truly believe in.

I believe in being myself. Whether the sun is shining brightly in the sky or grey clouds crawl across the Earth’s surface. So when my friend said she wanted to be me, I was confused. I could not understand why she didn’t want to be her. I believe everyone needs to be who they are, not fake personalities in order to fit into the crowd. I have embraced myself, and what I stand for, and I believe everyone should do the same.

I am kind, loyal, intelligent, and outgoing. I am also flawed, like most people. I am loud, obnoxious, coquettish, and sarcastic.

But, most importantly, I am me. With all of my awkwardness, cynicism, optimism, and paradoxes. I could never dream of being anyone besides that.

After all, if I’m not me, who else would I be?

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