CARMEN
It felt like I was slowly rediscovering pieces of Carmen that had been buried for years, but the strangest changes weren’t external.
Those shifts were deeper than anything visible; they were rooted inside me.
Some moments, I was still myself. The self that Arthur helped mould and curate—the quiet, nervous, and hesitant Carmen. The one who was often afraid of her own shadow if it moved too quickly.
But then, just as quickly, something would shift deep within me.
Someone would challenge me, or I’d feel threatened or protective, or it could even be a smell that triggered it, but when it happened, it was like another version of me stepped forward.
I’d stand taller. Speak firmer. I’d command attention without trying.
Heck, I would even look people directly in the eyes without fear
