The Version of Me You Haven’t Met Yet.

 People think they know you. They see the surface—the casual greetings, the curated moments, the highlights of your existence. They assume you’re exactly what you show them, nothing more, nothing less. But the truth? You are an entire ocean, and most people are only skimming the surface.

I used to think it was my job to correct them. To explain that I’m not always as quiet as I seem, nor as loud as I appear. That my confidence is sometimes a costume, and my silence isn’t always emptiness. That I feel things too deeply but laugh too easily. That I am both softer and sharper than they assume.

But then, I stopped. Because the people who truly want to know you—the ones who take the time to sit with you in the quiet, who ask the right questions, who listen between the words—those are the people who matter. And those people? They see you. Not just as a collection of assumptions, but as the paradox you are: messy, layered, real.

So no, I’m not the person everyone thinks I am. But I also don’t need to be understood by everyone. Deep conversations aren’t for shallow connections. And the right people? They’ll dive in.