When I was little, my nickname was Sunshine. I always got compliments about my bright smile and soul as I walked with my mom around stores, comments from teachers about being a good friend and a bright student. As I continued to get older, my siblings called me a peacemaker, using it in spite of me trying to settle tensions while they were fighting. 

     I used to be proud of it and strived to be a kind person with a bright smile. In middle school, I hit puberty and decided I wanted to be the comedic relief in my friend group. That worked out until high school where life got tough. I tried to continue to be funny, but people began to not take me seriously. So I chose to revert back to being kind, but it felt like it was too late to change my image. 

     It wasn’t until recently that I asked myself an important question. Why do I care about what people think about me?

     I’m no longer my little southern, blond, five-year-old self who was raised to care about what people thought of me and to be polite. I’m no longer that crazy hair, neon clothed, braces wearing middle schooler who wanted to be someone who could always be funny. In the future, I won’t remember most of the people I have met. So why please them when I won’t care about them in the next hour?

     When I see others who still haven’t realized that most people don’t care about them and are still pretending to be nice, kind, and perfect it makes me disgusted. I have come to realize that being two-faced is not only lying to everyone else, but also yourself.

     I’m not saying that everyone should be horrible and mean to each other, but instead, if you don’t like a person, don’t talk to them. Stop walking around behind their back gossiping as they live in ignorance about your betrayal. It is more honorable to respectfully lay a boundary between yourselves than pretend to like each other. Be a real person; even though barbies are fun for a little bit, they turn ugly eventually.