IN MY HAPPY GIRL ERA

BE FREEE

Heavy knocking could be heard outside Angie's house. Angie runs downstairs to open the door turns out it was just her uncle who got back from chopping wood in the forest.

'ohh Angie' go and get the remaining wood from the truck, uncle Josh said.

After doing all her chores, then the scene changes to when Angie is sitted in the sitting room with her uncle Josh. Angie you know you will be leaving home soon to further your education. The University you see is not just a playground it's a place to act mature and grow up. it's a place where we can see or watch over you. So use your time wisely. This words stuck to Angie like gum on tree.

it's morning and uncle Josh has gone to the forest to chop some more wood. While Angie in the other hand is preparing breakfast.Ten minutes later Angie is done cooking, so she rushes to take her bath and head to the market to sell her hand made sweets. Angie quickly dishes Josh's food and then sets off to the market because she was already late for her morning sales.

She dashes from store to store handing them her sweets. Everyone loves Angie's sweets because she put a lot of love and care in making them and gives them beautiful designs. Her mother used to tell her that "one made with love and care brings the happiest and joyful part of people".

It's afternoon and we can see Angie coming back from the market with her empty bags. As she was going home, she encountered a foreigner in a show telling a large crowd about her life experience and how she changed her destiny from the poor orphan girl to a well-known figure in the society.

it's been 5 years and Angie is in the University.

There was something different about the way I looked at the mirror that morning.

The same face. The same eyes. But a new softness — one that came from choosing myself.

I had spent too many mornings trying to shrink to fit people’s comfort, too many days waiting for validation that never came. But today? Today felt like a quiet rebellion. A gentle declaration that I’m stepping into my girl era — where peace, confidence, and glow are my daily rituals.

I brushed my hair with purpose this time, not to impress anyone, but because I loved how it felt when it fell right on my shoulders. I picked my cream blouse, my favorite jeans, and lip gloss that smelled faintly like strawberries. Small things, but they mattered.

As I got ready, I played music softly in the background — something with rhythm and joy, the kind that makes you move even when you didn’t plan to. My reflection in the mirror started to dance, and I laughed. A real, unforced laugh.

For once, I wasn’t rushing to be perfect. I just wanted to be.

When I stepped outside, the sunlight caught on my face like it was greeting me personally. The street was already awake — children running, motorcycles roaring, women trading gossip mixed with laughter. I blended into it all, but somehow stood apart. I felt visible — to myself.

I walked with lightness, like every step said, “I’m still here.”

At the corner, I bought puff-puff from a woman who always smiled at me. “You’re glowing today, my daughter,” she said, handing me the warm snack wrapped in paper.

I grinned. “Maybe it’s just good sleep.”

But I knew it wasn’t. It was healing.

I walked while eating, feeling the oil stain my fingers, and I didn’t care. The world didn’t feel heavy anymore — it felt like mine.

I stopped by the small park near my street — benches, trees, and a fountain that hadn’t worked in months. Still, it was beautiful in its brokenness. I sat, legs crossed, letting the morning breeze play with my hair.

My phone buzzed — a notification from an old friend, one I hadn’t spoken to in months. I stared at the screen for a moment, smiled, then locked it again. Not every message needed a reply. Not every story deserved a reread.

Instead, I opened my notebook — the same one from earlier mornings.

On a fresh page, I wrote in bold letters:

> “In my girl era — I’m soft, but not weak. Kind, but not naïve. I give love, but I don’t beg for it.”

I paused, then added another line:

> “I’m not becoming someone new. I’m just remembering who I’ve always been.”

The words looked powerful, even in my messy handwriting.

I leaned back, closed my eyes, and let the warmth of the sun kiss my skin. I didn’t need anyone’s permission to feel beautiful. I didn’t need anyone’s approval to feel enough.

A little girl ran past me chasing a butterfly, her laughter filling the park like music. For a second, I saw myself in her — wild, free, innocent. I smiled softly, realizing that growing up doesn’t mean losing that version of yourself. It just means protecting her better.

I took a deep breath, and it felt like peace had finally found its way home inside me.

I was no longer the version of me that apologized for everything. No longer the one afraid to shine too bright.

Now, I was the girl who wakes up and chooses herself — not out of pride, but out of love.

And that, I realized, is what being in your girl era truly means.

It’s not about makeup, or fashion, or pictures with filters.

It’s about finding comfort in your own presence.

It’s about joy that isn’t borrowed.

It’s about walking into every morning knowing that you’re your own safe place.

When I stood up to leave the park, my heart felt calm — like silence, but golden.

I whispered to myself, “I’m proud of you.”

And this time, I meant it.