We're often asked, "Who are you?" or "tell me about yourself"
And we answer with names, hobbies, zodiac signs, maybe a fun fact or two.
But rarely do we ever speak of the parts that truly define us.
Because sometimes, even we don't know who we are.

I could tell you my favorite color, or the songs I never skip.
I could say I like late-night talks, matcha with too much sugar,
and stories that make my chest ache in the best way.
But that's just a fraction of me.

The truth?
I am a collection of almosts, maybes, and what-ifs.
I carry laughter stitched together with silent battles.
I've worn masks not for deception, but for protection.
Not because I wanted to lie, but because being seen can sometimes feel like being exposed.
And that's terrifying.

Who am I?
I'm a soul in progress.
A heart learning to be soft again.
A mind trying to unlearn the things that made me doubt my worth.
I'm not perfect. I overthink. I dream too much. I feel everything too deeply.
But I'm here. Still writing. Still healing. Still becoming.

So no, I won't just tell you who I am.
I'll show you, through the words I bleed into every page.
And if you read closely, maybe you'll see the pieces of me I've never said out loud.