“A Mirror of My Soul: What I Adore Most About Myself”
In the quiet sanctuary of self-reflection, beneath the rustling leaves of time and experience, I find myself often returning to a simple yet profound question—What is my favourite thing about myself? It’s neither a boastful inquiry nor a moment of vanity, but rather a humble peeling of the self, a revealing of that inner essence which, despite the wear and tear of life, continues to shimmer with authenticity.
And the answer? It is my unwavering love, my disarming honesty, and my open-door accessibility—three virtues that braid together like ivy on the old brick walls of my soul.
The Heart That Stretches Without Measure
There is a kind of love within me—not the romanticised portrayal penned in novels—but a deep, human love. A compassion that stirs even for a stranger on the street, for a bird wounded by chance, or for a soul whose silence screams. My love, though scarred by betrayals and bruised by the world’s cold shoulder, has never closed its gates. It stretches itself like the morning sun over shivering rooftops, offering warmth indiscriminately.
I take pride in this love, for it is not selective. It is not owned by a few or leased by time. It is the kind of love that listens more than it speaks, embraces more than it judges, and continues to give even when the well seems dry.
A Tongue That Won’t Paint Falsehoods
Honesty is not an adornment I put on when it suits the moment. It is my language, my native breath, my stubborn truth. I have tasted the consequences of honesty—lost opportunities, shaken friendships, misunderstood silences. And yet, I hold on to it like a well-worn book, its pages crinkled with time, but its truth intact.
To be honest is not to be harsh. It is to walk with a lamp through a foggy path and offer the light to others. It is to say, “I do not know,” when the world expects certainty. It is to admit one’s failings, apologise when necessary, and speak truth to power, even if one stands alone.
A Gate That’s Always Ajar
What I find most appealing in myself, perhaps, is my accessibility. People find in me not a pedestal but a porch, not a mountain but a meadow. I am that shoulder where a tired soul may rest, that voice in the crowd that will answer when called, and that presence which does not vanish after the applause has faded.
Being accessible is not about being physically present; it is about being emotionally reachable. It is the ability to hold space for another’s sorrow, to laugh without restraint at shared joys, and to respond with sincerity when the world rushes by with indifference.
Philosophical Echoes in My Soul
Socrates once declared that “an unexamined life is not worth living.” I believe a life lived without love, honesty, and accessibility is a life untouched by grace. These traits are not medals to flaunt but footprints of a soul striving to stay human in a world often distracted by spectacle.
They are my anchors when storms rise, my compass when shadows fall, and my offering to a world that often cries out, not for greatness, but for goodness.
A Poetic Closing
Let, not my name echo in stone,
But in hearts I’ve known and touched alone.
Where love was given, not for gain,
And honesty bore truth through pain.
Accessible as morning’s light,
I stood for warmth, not heights of might.
If that be my legacy’s flame,
I ask for nothing—not even a name.
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