From a Writing Workshop—The Writers Studio, Jan 2025
I saw her enter the room—her vivacious smile first, followed by her two tiny feet.
She was petite, yet her presence felt larger than life. I, on the other hand, was taller and ridiculously thin, a shadow in comparison. It wasn’t just our appearances that contrasted; our personalities were each a galaxy away. She was fluid, magnetic and boisterous – the kind of person who lit up every party she walked into. I was stuck at the farther end of the spectrum, hanging precariously at the edges of single-lined conversations, with my yes and no answers stretching out painfully long.
I admired her confidence but also quietly envied her charm. She could sweet talk with anyone—strangers, colleagues, even the toughest to please crowds—and come out unscathed, leaving behind trails of laughter and warmth.
Until one day, when everything changed. I lost my headphones on a crowded bus as the mass of commuters pushed and shoved. I stayed back to locate them. She surprised me by offering to help. She didn’t just offer but dove right under the seats like a determined penguin, umbothered by the grime or the curious eyes. Moments later, she emerged triumphantly with my missing earbud. I couldn’t help but notice a genuine smile was plastered on her face. Something inside me shifted that day. It was my aversion to her and the wall I unknowingly built around myself to protect the inhabitant. In that moment, I saw her for who she truly was – not just the star of every gathering, but someone for whom kindness came naturally. I understood why everyone adored her—their admiration wasn’t misplaced.
As our friendship laced, I found myself swept into her world of endless parties. I still didn’t like them, but I was happy to make an effort. I met a kaleidoscope of people, shared many awkward moments, and even managed a few three-line conversations to my name. But no matter who came in and out, it was she who stood out, masking anyone that had been there.
She wasn’t just the life of the party; she was the fireworks that lit up the sky after it.
A few years later:
I walked into a party teeming with a sea of familiar faces, barely glancing over my shoulder. I’d had a busy day, and a busy night sprawled ahead of me. Someone elbowed me lightly to catch my attention. I turned and laughed in return—a smile that not only softened my features but felt like a second home to me.
As the bright night swept, illuminating the shadows, I realised I was now part of the world that once intimidated me.
