She acts like she’s in charge
even though she’s not a lecturer,
not a leader,
not anyone with authority—
just someone
who walks into the room
and speaks
like the world bends
around her voice.
Yeah,
she’s a senior.
And somehow,
I keep thinking about it.
Maybe
behind her sharp tone
there’s a piece of kindness
I haven’t understood yet.
Maybe
I’m just afraid
of being ignored
by Mister High—
that cold person
whose eyes feel like
a locked door
with no key.
Maybe.
I don’t know.
God,
I am confused.
Sometimes I want to leave.
Sometimes I want to stay.
Sometimes I just want
to be seen,
even for a moment.
So I give everything to You.
If she is kind,
make her my friend.
If she is cruel,
throw her far away.
And about Mister High—
if he is kind,
let his heart become softer.
Make me strong
to face his silence,
his pride,
his strange presence
that somehow
keeps crossing my path.
And if he is bad,
throw him far away too.
But then again…
You placed me here,
in this exact moment,
with these exact people.
So maybe
there is something
I am meant to learn.
About patience.
About dignity.
About understanding people
who are difficult to understand.
Or maybe
about myself.
And maybe, God…
that has been the answer
all along.
