On March 24, 2025, an email arrived in my inbox. But it was more than just words on a screen—it was a verdict, a sentence pronounced by someone who believed they had the right to judge my existence. The message was clear: I should hide my identity. “Because you are not beautiful,” it said. “People will turn away from you. Americans and the world will never respect someone like you.”

For a moment, I let the words settle in my mind. Because I am human. I feel pain. I carry wounds that the world cannot see. Sometimes the weight of existence becomes too heavy, and I wonder if I am strong enough to carry it. But then I take a deep breath, and I remember: I am not a mistake. I am a person. I am here. And no one gets to decide my worth but me.

I know what it feels like to be cast aside. I know the sting of rejection, the silence that follows when you enter a room and people choose to look past you, as if you are nothing more than a shadow. I have been told to disappear, to be smaller, to be less. But I refuse. Because I was not born to be hidden. I was born to tell my story.

My story is not about beauty—at least, not the kind of beauty that fits into neat little boxes. My story is about survival, about resilience, about finding the strength to exist in a world that tells me I shouldn’t. The person who sent me that email thinks their words should break me. But what they don’t realize is that I have already been broken, and I have rebuilt myself piece by piece.

I remember my childhood—the small town where I was born, the quiet moments spent staring into a mirror that never felt like it reflected the real me. I remember feeling trapped, like my body was a cage and my soul was waiting to be free. I remember learning to smile even when I didn’t feel safe, learning to stay silent even when I wanted to scream.

And yet, through all of it, a fire burned inside me. A voice that whispered, One day, you will be free.

I know the world can be cruel. I know that some people will never see me as I am, only as a concept they have been taught to reject. But this world is not just theirs. It is mine too. And their discomfort with my existence does not erase my right to be here.

I have dreams. Big dreams. I dream of building something great, of making my mark on the world. I dream of growing my brand, of standing on my own two feet, of proving that I am more than what others think of me. But most of all, I dream of inspiring others. I dream of a day when a young person, lost and afraid, hears my story and realizes:

“I am not alone.”

That is why I am here. That is why I keep going. And no matter how many times they tell me to fade into the background, to stay silent, to disappear—I will do the opposite. I will take up space. I will raise my voice. I will exist.

Because my story is not just about me. It is about every person who has ever felt unseen, unheard, unwanted. It is about every soul who has ever been told they are too much, or not enough.

I am not a mistake.

I am a presence.

I am a story.

And this story will not be silenced.

I will not be invisible.