From the moment I gained admission into secondary school, a new chapter began, but not everyone was happy about it. My aunt’s daughter particularly, who had always carried an air of superiority, didn’t hide her displeasure. She was already in her penultimate year and had seen me as nothing but the little girl from primary school. To her, my stepping into her world was a threat, a shift she wasn’t prepared for.
At first, it was low-minded remarks, little touch about how I wouldn’t cope, how I was too soft, too simple. But when she saw that her words bounced off me like harmless feathers, she intensified. She painted horror stories of senior students, told me I’d face “bullets,” that I'd cry, that I’d beg to go back home. She wanted fear to break me before I even began.
But here’s what she didn’t know: I may have been new to the system, but I wasn’t new to standing tall. Her stories didn’t scare me. Her words didn’t define me.
I looked at the road ahead with steady eyes. I stepped into the school not as prey, but with quiet confidence. I wasn't there to hide or shrink. I was there to grow.
She waited for me to crumble. I rose instead. Because I’m not prey.
Not to fear. Not to doubt. And definitely not to anyone who tries to dim my shine.
Thanks for reading
