Walking on the Red Carpet (OHSHC)

Everyone thinks they know me. They see my actions, not my motivations. I am pretty sure all my fans don't know crap about me: my biological parents, my mental stability, my fear, and my dream.

They only see my clothes and see "how better am I off than them". Better. Richer. Prettier. Beauty. That's all they see.

I am afraid, just like the rest of them. I feel pain, just like the rest of them. I have been traumatized, just like the rest of them. I dream and feel the pain of longing, just like the rest of them. Money and fame and power doesn't change that. Neither does being a model.

I want to sing, not be sold off for my body like some whore. A camera whore. That's what models are. I don't want to dance around some camera and green screen, changing and acting every time the camera flashes. I don't want to be just walking on the red carpet for being pretty.

I want to pour my despair, my fear, and my agony onto words to reach out to every one around me, showing them that I hurt, I cry, I break like every one else. I don't want to be a mere mannequin. I want to express, dance, love, hate, not be a model.

But— there's no such thing as "I want" in the entertainment. There is only my boss wants and my fans want. So, until I breach out from the chains of my blood, then I will hide my true self behind fabrics and smile that fake smile I'm known for in front of the camera... Just like I always do.