There's something I've been carrying in my heart, something personal I've never really told anyone-not even Mama.
I know I could, I know she'd listen.
But I just don't want to.
It's not that I don't trust her... It's just that some things feel too fragile to explain aloud.
So, I'm writing it down here-hoping the words will understand me better than the people around me do.
Today reminded me, once again, of how it feels to be surrounded by many people and still feel completely alone.
This isn't the first time.
It happens often-so often that I sometimes wonder if I've become invisible.
We had a group activity in class right after our teacher's lesson.
We were instructed to form groups of six.
As usual, I instinctively turned to my friends.
The ones I laugh with during breaks, share snacks with, and sit beside every single day.
But before I could even speak, they were already locking eyes with each other—forming a group, exchanging smiles, and silently closing a door I wasn't even allowed to knock on.
I stood there, frozen, watching.
For 30 minutes.
Thirty long minutes of pretending I was okay.
Pretending I was busy.
Pretending I didn't care.
But I did.
I cared too much.
And while I tried to keep a brave face, I felt the sharp sting of rejection settle heavily on my chest.
My hands were trembling.
My tears started rolling, one by one, and I quickly wiped them away before anyone could see.
I didn't want to make a scene.
I didn't want pity.
Then, one of them-one of my so-called friends-noticed me.
"Oh, sorry! We're already six. Hehe, sorry girl. Just find another group, okay?"
She said it so casually.
Like it wasn't a big deal.
Like I was just some stray puzzle piece that didn't quite fit.
And all I could do was smile.
A painful, practiced smile.
It hurt more than I expected it to.
Because we're not strangers.
We're seatmates.
We share space and stories every single day.
How could they not notice me from the start?
How could they not think of me the way I always think of them?
Whenever there's an activity or something to be done, they're always the first people I think of.
Why am I never the first person they think of?
Why am I always the second option? Or worse... not an option at all?
And yet, no matter how much it hurts, I can't bring myself to hate them.
Because I have this heart-this annoyingly big, soft heart-that always chooses to understand.
Maybe they didn't mean to leave me out.
Maybe it wasn't personal.
Maybe they were just too caught up in the moment.
But still... I wish they had seen me.
Just once, I wish someone would choose me first.
Without being told. Without me having to ask. Just... choose me.
I know this might sound shallow to some people-like it's just a simple classroom scenario.
But sometimes, it's the small moments like this that leave the deepest cracks in your heart.
The quiet kind of hurt that no one sees because you've become so good at hiding it behind "it's okay" and "I understand."
But deep down, I wish they would understand me too.
And tonight, I'll cry not because I'm weak-but because I'm strong enough to carry this kind of loneliness without letting it harden my heart.
Still, I hope...
One day, I'll find my people.
The ones who will see me.
Choose me.
And never make me feel like a forgotten choice.
YOU ARE READING
POV
Non-FictionLife often presents itself as a series of hurdles, each one taller than the last. These hurdles, though daunting, are not meant to break us but to shape us into who we are meant to be. It is through our darkest nights that we gain the strength to fa...
