Being Human is Easy (When It’s Not Hard)

I am messy. I am brave. I am afraid. I am…

Sometimes I don’t like the way my body looks. When I start gaining weight, my face becomes a little rounder, and it’s the thing I’m most insecure about. Some days I wish I could scrub away my acne scars.

I love how my eyelashes are only curly at the very tips. I love my legs. I love the color of my hair and my eyebrows and the way my arms can push me up when I do a push-up. I love that I laugh a lot — too much, my mom would argue.

I’ve never really lived. I’ve never been on a plane or gotten drunk with my friends or done something so insane it makes for a good story later on. I wish I could be a different person. I wish I could be brave.

I cry almost every night, but not of sadness. Of laughter. Because I’m so lucky to have the funniest siblings in the world. Siblings that make the sun rise in my chest. They make me feel alive.

I get jealous of other writers even though I try not to. Sometimes I compare my writing to theirs and stop believing I’m good enough. Sometimes, for tiny moments, I think I’ll never succeed and that my life is heading in the wrong direction.

I love what I write. I love that I get to write in the first place. I can read what I’ve written and publish it with pride. I imagine that life can only go up from here.

Sometimes I’m so lonely and everyone I love is so far away. Even if they’re right next to…