I’ve been a lot of people in the mirror. People in the mirror At 8, I was your average kid who brought her Barbie everywhere — even to the bathroom. Not a hint of seriousness in sight. The world could wait; I had royal duties. I treated myself like the princess I believed I was, never forgetting to practice my wave. At 10, I was the Harry Potter-obsessed kid. Always a book in hand, a smile on my face. Every mirror was an opportunity to glimpse the future pop star within me. I didn’t know the lyrics, couldn’t hold a tune, but I sang my heart out anyway. Loud, off-key, and proud. Little did I know that would be the last time I’d sing like that. Little did I know that confidence would disappear so quickly. At 13, I was someone I didn’t recognize. Hair was always messy, and the smile had gone missing. Eyes dull, like they’d cried too much. I no longer laughed at cat videos. School no longer felt exciting — it felt like a trap. Some days, I stood in the mirror and picked apart my “long nose” or my “thin lips.” On other days, I just avoided my reflection altogether. I stopped wearing pink, and swapped braids for messy buns. Sweatpants. Hoodies. Repeat. I didn’t hate myself. I just hated the idea of myself. I drowned in comparisons — Kylie Jenner, that one popular girl, every flawless face on my feed. I surrounded myself with people who made me feel invisible, and I started believing them. I didn’t know how I got there, I only knew I wasn’t who I used to be. At 14, I’m someone who knows what she wants. I walk into a room without needing the spotlight. Hair combed. Outfit ironed. Confidence zipped up to the collar. Most days, I’ve got it together. Deadlines? Done. Projects? Sorted. (Unless you count my massive crush on that boy — then maybe not so sorted.) Sometimes I’m on a digital detox. Other times? Full-on influencer mode. But some nights, when it all gets too loud, I still cry in the shower. I think about the trampolines, tea parties with dolls, and singing at imaginary concerts. And I wonder: when did I stop doing the things I adored? This isn’t just about me. It’s about us How we blink, and suddenly half our childhood is gone, Replaced with passwords, planners, pressure, and pretending to be okay. We grow up thinking we have to be perfect to be taken seriously. But maybe — just maybe — we need to turn back the clock and be kids again. So, if I could do it all over, I’d sleep in a little longer. Eat that extra slice of pizza, Forget the mirror, and just be. By: Hiya Khara Platforms:🌐 ngoaquaterra.com | shikshaq.in📲 Instagram: @ngo.aquaterra | @roots.aquaterra | @ventures.aquaterra | @shikshaq.in💼 LinkedIn: NGO AquaTerra
I’ve been a lot of people in the mirror. People in the mirror At 8, I was your average kid who brought her Barbie everywhere — even to the bathroom. Not a hint of seriousness in sight. The world could wait; I had royal duties. I treated myself like the princess I believed I was, never forgetting to practice my wave. At 10, I was the Harry Potter-obsessed kid. Always a book in hand, a smile on my face. Every mirror was an opportunity to glimpse the future pop star within me. I didn’t know the lyrics, couldn’t hold a tune, but I sang my heart out anyway. Loud, off-key, and proud. Little did I know that would be the last time I’d sing like that. Little did I know that confidence would disappear so quickly. At 13, I was someone I didn’t recognize. Hair was always messy, and the smile had gone missing. Eyes dull, like they’d cried too much. I no longer laughed at cat videos. School no longer felt exciting — it felt like a trap. Some days, I stood in the mirror and picked apart my “long nose” or my “thin lips.” On other days, I just avoided my reflection altogether. I stopped wearing pink, and swapped braids for messy buns. Sweatpants. Hoodies. Repeat. I didn’t hate myself. I just hated the idea of myself. I drowned in comparisons — Kylie Jenner, that one popular girl, every flawless face on my feed. I surrounded myself with people who made me feel invisible, and I started believing them. I didn’t know how I got there, I only knew I wasn’t who I used to be. At 14, I’m someone who knows what she wants. I walk into a room without needing the spotlight. Hair combed. Outfit ironed. Confidence zipped up to the collar. Most days, I’ve got it together. Deadlines? Done. Projects? Sorted. (Unless you count my massive crush on that boy — then maybe not so sorted.) Sometimes I’m on a digital detox. Other times? Full-on influencer mode. But some nights, when it all gets too loud, I still cry in the shower. I think about the trampolines, tea parties with dolls, and singing at imaginary concerts. And I wonder: when did I stop doing the things I adored? This isn’t just about me. It’s about us How we blink, and suddenly half our childhood is gone, Replaced with passwords, planners, pressure, and pretending to be okay. We grow up thinking we have to be perfect to be taken seriously. But maybe — just maybe — we need to turn back the clock and be kids again. So, if I could do it all over, I’d sleep in a little longer. Eat that extra slice of pizza, Forget the mirror, and just be. By: Hiya Khara Platforms:🌐 ngoaquaterra.com | shikshaq.in📲 Instagram: @ngo.aquaterra | @roots.aquaterra | @ventures.aquaterra | @shikshaq.in💼 LinkedIn: NGO AquaTerra
I’ve been a lot of people in the mirror. People in the mirror At 8, I was your average kid who brought her Barbie everywhere — even to the bathroom. Not a hint of seriousness in sight. The world could wait; I had royal duties. I treated myself like the princess I believed I was, never forgetting to practice my wave. At 10, I was the Harry Potter-obsessed kid. Always a book in hand, a smile on my face. Every mirror was an opportunity to glimpse the future pop star within me. I didn’t know the lyrics, couldn’t hold a tune, but I sang my heart out anyway. Loud, off-key, and proud. Little did I know that would be the last time I’d sing like that. Little did I know that confidence would disappear so quickly. At 13, I was someone I didn’t recognize. Hair was always messy, and the smile had gone missing. Eyes dull, like they’d cried too much. I no longer laughed at cat videos. School no longer felt exciting — it felt like a trap. Some days, I stood in the mirror and picked apart my “long nose” or my “thin lips.” On other days, I just avoided my reflection altogether. I stopped wearing pink, and swapped braids for messy buns. Sweatpants. Hoodies. Repeat. I didn’t hate myself. I just hated the idea of myself. I drowned in comparisons — Kylie Jenner, that one popular girl, every flawless face on my feed. I surrounded myself with people who made me feel invisible, and I started believing them. I didn’t know how I got there, I only knew I wasn’t who I used to be. At 14, I’m someone who knows what she wants. I walk into a room without needing the spotlight. Hair combed. Outfit ironed. Confidence zipped up to the collar. Most days, I’ve got it together. Deadlines? Done. Projects? Sorted. (Unless you count my massive crush on that boy — then maybe not so sorted.) Sometimes I’m on a digital detox. Other times? Full-on influencer mode. But some nights, when it all gets too loud, I still cry in the shower. I think about the trampolines, tea parties with dolls, and singing at imaginary concerts. And I wonder: when did I stop doing the things I adored? This isn’t just about me. It’s about us How we blink, and suddenly half our childhood is gone, Replaced with passwords, planners, pressure, and pretending to be okay. We grow up thinking we have to be perfect to be taken seriously. But maybe — just maybe — we need to turn back the clock and be kids again. So, if I could do it all over, I’d sleep in a little longer. Eat that extra slice of pizza, Forget the mirror, and just be. By: Hiya Khara Platforms:🌐 ngoaquaterra.com | shikshaq.in📲 Instagram: @ngo.aquaterra | @roots.aquaterra | @ventures.aquaterra | @shikshaq.in💼 LinkedIn: NGO AquaTerra