Coming up with a title is always the most crucial part here. In fact, this title has been a product of my third revision already. I’ve actually spent a whole day thinking, deciding, and gradually changing my mind for what could be the best name for my blog. It’s funny because the truth is that, in making this site, you actually have a choice whether to show or not to show the title and the tagline. But as for being the passionate, aspiring writer in me, I couldn’t just let the chance of naming it slip away. I somehow thought that not giving it a name would be totally regrettable. After all, this is my very first time to try creating a blog– a personal one to be exact; And I do really want it not only to be something that could best define myself, but also to be something that could be the fortress of everything that’s going on inside my head.
But why ‘The Glass Shoe Box’ then?
Maybe I could tell you a short story to make you understand:
I was born on 1997, on the 18th of February specifically. That year, the late Princess Diana of Great Britain (Princess of Wales) was really famous. (Unfortunately, it was the same year she died.) For all we know, she was a royalty loved by many, and my mom happened to be a big fan as well. That’s why, according to her, she decided to name me “Princess.” But here’s the silly thing though; Mom said she supposedly wanted to name me just exactly like the late Princess’s. But she thought that “Princess Diana” was too long, and that when I get to school already, I’ll get a hard time writing it. So in the end, she decided that the “Princess” is enough already to be my name.
When I was younger, it wasn’t really an issue for me. I didn’t feel that I have a good name; I didn’t feel that I have a bad name either. But later on, as I grow up, for some vague reason, I started to hate my name. I don’t know really, and I felt really bad for it; Mostly, I felt like I’m being ungrateful for what my mom gave to me. But I just couldn’t help it — I just really couldn’t help to resist the rising inferiority inside me.
Honestly, I felt dreary for having the name ‘Princess.’ There’s really a lot out there who’s got the same name like me. I felt quite indistinctive, very ordinary; How I wish I got a more unique name, you know; I’d really like one that could make people wonder about its good meaning, and not just one that is quite obvious. Moreover, I envied those who have second names as well. I thought maybe it would have been better if I had a second name, rather than just a plain “Princess”; That maybe if one doesn’t sound pleasing to me, I could consider people calling me by the other one. It all felt really irrational though, but I was slowly being eaten by my own insecurities, and I couldn’t do anything about it.
I tell you, it may have been really pointless to have this name-hating game of my own. But lately, as I try to let myself get through the hate, I realized there was even more to it. And what’s really saddening is that, it wasn’t just a mere dislike of a name— I realized I was already starting to despise my own individuality.
What made me feel so small is that I had a good name, but I felt like I wasn’t worthy of reflecting its royal meaning; I couldn’t even live the life of it — I wasn’t born with a silver spoon, and most of all, I never believed that I was beautiful. You know what, in middle school, I was just this fat girl in braided pigtails who never really cared about how I was often teased by many. Yes, I was made fun of most of the time; but for you to know, I never felt like I was bullied. And it was because I had always made people believe that it was all okay to me. It was actually mom who taught me how to resist criticism and to just ride in the funny side of it. I was really grateful for it anyway, because my middle school experience hadn’t been a nightmarish one and I really had great friends. But what most people didn’t know is that even if I shared laughters with them for every snide remarks, deep inside me, I was being hit very hard by their words. And those words never really left me; they were just there lurking inside my head, always ready to crush the remaining amount of self-esteem I have.
Growing up, people always tell that I was too kind– always lighthearted and almost not getting angry at whatever they may throw to me; But I couldn’t even make myself proud of it actually. The problem with it is that people always expect that everything’s just fine with you, and it’s always scary not to meet that expectation, because I’m too afraid that I might appear very wrong to them. And the fallout of it is that I’ve always kept my shortcomings within me and never really learned how to break free from them. And even if I’m already having the most extreme of my emotions, I never really had the courage to say them aloud. In the end, I may not have blamed and got angry to all the people criticizing me, but in return, it was my inner self who has kept torturing me inside my head.
And this is one of my main reasons for creating this blog; I wanted to tell every thought, feeling, and emotion– happiest or even the saddest and darkest ones, that I couldn’t say out loud in words. If I don’t have the guts to say something in person, this is where I’m gonna spill it all — fear, anger, insecurity, sadness, happiness, admiration, disappointment— name them all, and this is gonna be the place that I’ll be brave enough to unfold them.
Surely, you’re still wondering why I named it The Glass Shoe box. I haven’t really answered it with the story anyway. But if you’ve thought about Cinderella’s glass shoes, then you’re partly close to the answer. Well, Cinderella has been my favorite fairytale princess when I was a kid. And when I was making the title of this, I thought that it has to be one thing that could be the closest representation of myself and my character; I was named after a princess anyway, so I then thought about the glass shoes of Cinderella. However, I’m not saying that we’re quite similar; we’re vastly different, in fact. But I know we were quite the same for having some misfortunes in our lives — she for her own struggle with her stepmother and stepsisters when her father died, and I for my own struggle to accept flaws amidst the world’s cruel judgment.
I just thought maybe we were both princesses in our own ways. The only difference is that she was the one who’s worthy of the glass shoes; and on the other hand, maybe I was just the one worthy of a shoe box. Their shoe box, perhaps. Cinderella’s glass shoes’ box.
After all, Cinderella had her shoes to find her happy ending; That if they would fit perfectly, she could live happily ever after.
And she did.
Now, I think maybe this is my chance to have the box –The Glass Shoe Box; That if my own thoughts would fit perfectly, maybe I could set myself free.
And if my fairy-godmother-mind would allow, maybe I could hopefully escape my own misfortunes.
Just like Cinderella did.