The school bus was as noisy as ever, students laughing, talking, and shouting at the back like they had nothing to worry about in life. Everyone seemed so full of energy. But me? I kept quiet in my seat, sitting next to the window.
The window was my escape. I liked looking outside because it made me forget for a while that I was alone inside. The city always moved so fast. Cars rushed past each other, shops opened, people walked quickly with coffee cups in their hands. It was like everyone had a place to go and a reason to be happy.
I watched them like I was watching a movie.
Some girls walking down the street looked so beautiful, their hair shining in the sunlight, their makeup light but perfect. They looked like the girls from magazines. Some boys looked cool too, walking with their backpacks thrown carelessly over their shoulders, their sneakers clean, their confidence loud.
I looked at my reflection faintly in the window. My round face, my chubby cheeks, my plain hair tied up in a simple ponytail. My uniform that didn't hug me right. And I sighed.
I wasn't like them.
I wasn't the type people noticed. Not cute, not beautiful. Sometimes I even called myself a bad girl—not because I did bad things, but because that's how I felt inside. Wrong. Like something about me didn't fit.
The bus hit a bump and everyone at the back shouted "wooo!" like it was the funniest thing. I didn't laugh. I just pressed my forehead gently against the glass, watching the buildings roll past.
We stopped at a red light. On the sidewalk, I saw a little girl holding her mom's hand. She had a pink backpack, her hair in two neat braids, and she was smiling up at her mom. She looked so happy. I wondered when was the last time I looked that happy. Maybe when I was younger too, before I learned how painful life could be.
The bus moved again. I rested my chin on my palm, my elbow pressed on the window edge. Thoughts kept spinning in my head.
Sometimes, I wished I could just fast-forward life. Like when you skip a boring part in a movie. I wished I could jump into the future where maybe I'd be older, prettier, stronger. Maybe I'd finally feel confident. Maybe people would finally see me.
But then another thought came. What if the future wasn't better? What if growing up didn't solve anything? What if it only got worse?
That thought scared me more than anything.
Behind me, students were laughing so loud. I could hear them teasing each other, throwing snacks, and playing games on their phones. Someone shouted, "Give me back my chips!" and the others burst into laughter.
I wanted to join them. I wanted to laugh too. But something inside me always held me back. I didn't know how to fit in, how to say the right words, how to laugh without feeling fake. It was easier to stay quiet, even though staying quiet hurt.
The bus passed by the shopping center. Groups of girls about my age walked out with iced drinks in their hands, giggling, fixing their hair, swinging their bags like they didn't have a care in the world. They looked like they had life figured out.
And there I was, comparing myself to them again.
I touched my uniform skirt and looked down at my shoes. Everything about me felt plain. I wasn't ugly, but I wasn't the kind of girl people looked at twice. And that thought burned in me.
Why couldn't I just be better? Why couldn't I be like them?
But deep down I knew it wasn't only about looks. It was about how I felt inside. No matter how many times I tried to love myself, moments like this always came back. Moments when I compared myself to everyone else and ended up last.
The bus drove past the park, where kids were playing on the swings. Their laughter floated in the air, carefree and real. I remembered being that little once, when the only thing that made me sad was when my ice cream melted too fast. Now things were heavier. Loneliness was heavier.
I pressed my hand against the cold glass of the bus window and whispered in my heart, Why am I like this? Why can't I be normal?
The bus slowed down as we got closer to school. The noise inside grew louder. Students stood up too early, the driver shouting at them to sit down, but they didn't care. They were too excited to rush off, too excited to start another day with their friends.
I stayed in my seat until the very last second. I didn't like pushing through the crowd. I didn't like being noticed.
When the bus finally stopped, I grabbed my bag, stood up slowly, and walked out. The morning air was fresh, but it didn't make me feel fresh. It only reminded me that another long day was starting.
I looked at the big school building ahead, students pouring in like waves. I felt so small among them.
I wished, just once, that I could walk in with my head high. That someone would look at me and see me, not because they needed something, not because they wanted to laugh, but because they cared.
But wishes are just wishes.
So I blended in quietly, walking into another boring, tiring day in grade 7, carrying my thoughts like a heavy bag no one else could see.