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All Too Well

By Neha Gandhi

Born 2009, F, from Shan State, Myanmar

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All Too Well

It all begins with the warmth of childhood. I was the only child in a family that seemed to hold all its hopes for the future in me, a bright-eyed kid surrounded by love and dreams. They looked at me like I could do no wrong, expecting me to soar, and back then, so did I.
Then came school, where the world turned harsher. I was small, quiet, maybe a little different—and somehow, that made me a target. My classmates didn’t see me, really see me, and some adults didn’t either. They dismissed my voice, ignored my calls for help, and so I started to shrink inside myself, watching as others chose to turn away. Even at that age, the world felt colder, the dreams more distant. But I remember every sting of those days, every time they made me feel invisible.
By the time I reached my teens, all that hurt turned to bitterness. I started keeping my distance, retreating further and further, and people labeled me as cold, even mean. They didn’t know what I was carrying, didn’t see the stress that weighed me down each day. To them, I was stubborn, moody, a “difficult” girl who didn’t care about anyone. But the truth was, I just couldn’t let myself be hurt again.
In the late nights, I’d find myself wandering the kitchen, seeking comfort in the glow of the fridge light, trying to fill that empty feeling inside. I kept secrets, hiding parts of myself I wasn’t sure anyone would understand. I wondered if I’d ever be enough, or if the person I was becoming was someone even I didn’t recognize. It seemed like every person I trusted, every bond I tried to build, eventually broke apart, each one leaving another scar. They said it was just honesty, but it felt casually cruel, like I was being discarded.
I grew up feeling like I had to shoulder everything alone, and I wore that independence as a shield. But with each year, the memories clung tighter. I held onto the best parts—the small victories, the rare moments when I felt seen, even just by myself. Yet I couldn’t shake the feeling that somehow, I’d lost something precious in all those years of trying to be strong. It felt like I’d left pieces of myself in the memories, pieces I’d never get back.
Now, I look at my life and wonder if it was all worth it, if everything I went through really shaped me into someone I could be proud of. But as much as I’d like to forget, there are parts of me that hold on to it all—each hurt, each moment, each fleeting joy that reminds me of who I was and who I’ve become. It’s all there, too clear, too real. And as much as it aches, I remember it all too well.

All Too Well(Neha Gandhi) All Too Well

It all begins with the warmth of childhood. I was the only child in a family that seemed to hold all its hopes for the future in me, a bright-eyed kid surrounded by love and dreams. They looked at me like I could do no wrong, expecting me to soar, and back then, so did I.
Then came school, where the world turned harsher. I was small, quiet, maybe a little different—and somehow, that made me a target. My classmates didn’t see me, really see me, and some adults didn’t either. They dismissed my voice, ignored my calls for help, and so I started to shrink inside myself, watching as others chose to turn away. Even at that age, the world felt colder, the dreams more distant. But I remember every sting of those days, every time they made me feel invisible.
By the time I reached my teens, all that hurt turned to bitterness. I started keeping my distance, retreating further and further, and people labeled me as cold, even mean. They didn’t know what I was carrying, didn’t see the stress that weighed me down each day. To them, I was stubborn, moody, a “difficult” girl who didn’t care about anyone. But the truth was, I just couldn’t let myself be hurt again.
In the late nights, I’d find myself wandering the kitchen, seeking comfort in the glow of the fridge light, trying to fill that empty feeling inside. I kept secrets, hiding parts of myself I wasn’t sure anyone would understand. I wondered if I’d ever be enough, or if the person I was becoming was someone even I didn’t recognize. It seemed like every person I trusted, every bond I tried to build, eventually broke apart, each one leaving another scar. They said it was just honesty, but it felt casually cruel, like I was being discarded.
I grew up feeling like I had to shoulder everything alone, and I wore that independence as a shield. But with each year, the memories clung tighter. I held onto the best parts—the small victories, the rare moments when I felt seen, even just by myself. Yet I couldn’t shake the feeling that somehow, I’d lost something precious in all those years of trying to be strong. It felt like I’d left pieces of myself in the memories, pieces I’d never get back.
Now, I look at my life and wonder if it was all worth it, if everything I went through really shaped me into someone I could be proud of. But as much as I’d like to forget, there are parts of me that hold on to it all—each hurt, each moment, each fleeting joy that reminds me of who I was and who I’ve become. It’s all there, too clear, too real. And as much as it aches, I remember it all too well.

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COMMENTS (1)

Denise Arnault

11/18/2024

Children can be cruel. It is a natural result of their competing for attention. I'm glad that you managed to get through it, but wish that your scars were not so deep. It does sound like you have discovered that you are you, not what someone else says that you are. Now that you are an adult, you can turn the page and go out into the real world, making friends and finding happiness away from th...
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All Too Well

COMMENTS (1)

Denise Arnault