I grew up with two friends who were so different from each other, yet both of them seemed to shine.
The first was the daughter of my neighbor—a girl from a wealthy family who was the “prima donna” of our neighborhood. She was beautiful, with warm brown skin and a strong, commanding aura that made people respect her without a word. But behind all that, she carried the wounds of a broken home. Her quiet, cold, sometimes arrogant attitude was only her way of protecting herself.
Every morning, my older sister would take me to school on her way to work. On the way, I would stop by to pick up this friend. We walked together, even though the distance between our hearts was never quite that close.
My second friend was someone from my childhood—my friend from elementary school. We went to different junior high schools, but somehow God brought us to the same senior high. She was stunning—fair-skinned, smart, cheerful, warm, and, like me, came from a poor family. People were easily drawn to her because she was like sunshine: always smiling, always ready to help.
Strange, isn’t it?
Two beautiful girls, each charming in her own way… and I was the one standing between them.
The three of us often walked home together.
And I truly enjoyed that friendship.
But at the same time… it hurt.
People’s attention was never directed at me.
I was just “the messenger.”
Boys would use me to send chocolates or messages to my friends, speaking to me in a tone that made me feel like a servant.
Sometimes we arrived together, all three of us, but only I received no attention.
They greeted my friends with bright smiles and warm words, then walked past me as if I didn’t exist. They would pull my friends aside, leaving me behind.
Back then, I knew my place.
I knew I wasn’t as pretty as they were.
I felt like I didn’t deserve to walk beside two shining stars.
I never knew whether my two friends realized how sad I was.
Maybe they saw me smile and assumed I was fine.
But there were many moments when I chose to stay close to my classmates instead—because at least they accepted me as I was.
I wasn’t looking for enemies.
All I wanted was friendship.
So whatever hurt me, including the small things my friends did, I chose to forgive.
I swallowed the pain quietly, even when it stung.
School years were supposed to be filled with beautiful memories.
But for me, those days left more scars than laughter.
Years later, I understand something I couldn’t see back then.
I wasn’t invisible—I was simply unseen.
And even when no one looked my way,
I was there too.
