I Am Not The Same In Every Light

I am not the same in every light. Under the soft amber of dusk, I am quieter, more introspective, like a book whose pages have been turned too many times. The words are there, but they are slightly faded, as if I’m trying to speak without disturbing the stillness. In the harsh overhead of midday, I am sharper—a blade reflecting the world around me, cutting through the noise with clarity and precision, but also with the jaggedness of being seen too clearly.

There are days when I am all edges, holding my breath and standing tall, trying to keep my balance in the spotlight, where every movement is exaggerated and every word feels too heavy with expectation. But when the light dims, when the room quiets, I shift—becoming something softer, more fragile, like a sketch still in progress. I can feel the weight of what I was before—the polished, confident version of myself, the one who spoke and acted without hesitation—but now, in this softer light, I am allowed to be incomplete.

When I’m with you, I become a different version of myself, one who laughs more easily, who listens with patience, who speaks with a confidence I sometimes don’t feel. In your eyes, I find the person I want to be, but it’s not the whole of me. It’s just one piece, shaped by the way you see me, and the way I want to be seen.

In crowds, I am smaller, a quiet observer of the noise, waiting for my chance to slip in unnoticed. I wear a mask in these moments, not to deceive, but to protect the things I’m not yet sure I trust to be out in the open. I am not pretending; I am adapting. I am learning how to exist in spaces where I’m unsure if my voice will be heard. I am learning how to survive in places where the light is too bright or too cold.

There are moments I need to be seen in full—unfiltered, unpolished, raw—but those moments are rare. They are moments of solitude, of honesty, when I’m alone and not being shaped by anyone else. And in those moments, I am just me—but that is not a fixed thing. It’s not something I can always access when the world is watching, when the world is asking for pieces of me that I’m not ready to give.

I am not the same in every light, but I am still me, even when I shift, even when I change. I am not a deception. I am a process, a shape that is being constantly molded by the places I stand, the people I meet, the lights that shine on me. Some of these lights are bright and sharp, others are soft and distant, but none of them define me completely.

I am many things, and maybe that’s okay.