This is not just a skirt.

It’s hard to explain. But if I had to compress everything I’ve ever felt into a word, a photo, a single item—it would be this skirt. When I saw it, the emotions it stirred in me were unlike anything I had ever felt before. It became the embodiment of all the femininity I’ve carried inside for years. The version of myself I’ve built in my mind—silent, repressed, hidden—suddenly had a shape. And it was that skirt.


—

This skirt holds more than fabric. It holds my becoming.


—

And yes, it shouldn’t hurt this much.

But it does. Because I’m still not where I need to be. Because when I wear it, I can feel the world turning its face against me. Every glance, every word, every silence cuts like a blade. And yet, wearing it feels like breathing. Like becoming. But I’m not there yet. Not fully. Until I am, this skirt remains a wound. A thin but deep one.

Still, I believe. Once that self becomes real… everything will be more beautiful than I ever imagined. Until then, survival is the challenge. Success is the challenge. Most of all—building a life of my own.

Through this blog, my voice, my social media—I’m trying to carve out my existence. I want to live without being dependent on anyone. That is my deepest goal. I’m used to the insults, the denials, the threats, the whispers. The real struggle is not needing any of them.

This life, unfortunately, runs mostly on money. So my battle isn’t just about my identity—it’s about survival. But I will build this life. And one day, this skirt will no longer be a wound. It will be my victory.


—

Because I was never just trying to wear a skirt. I was trying to be free.


—