Common: A Reflection on Identity and Worth

 

Who is a commoner?

They said I look common, and for a moment, I wondered—what do common people look like?

Is it my face? My voice? The way I walk, the way I exist?
Is it because I do not demand attention, because I do not carry an air of importance?
Is it because I do not own things that sparkle, because I do not speak with a certain grace, because I blend into the background instead of standing out?

I looked at myself in the mirror, searching for what made me common. I traced my features—my skin, my eyes, my lips—was I missing something? Was I less because I did not shine in their world?

It hurt.

Not because I wanted to be above anyone, but because their words made me feel like I was below. As if being common meant being invisible. As if it meant I was replaceable, forgettable, insignificant.

Redefining Common

But then, I looked again.

I saw a face that has smiled through pain.
A voice that has whispered kindness even when drowning in sorrow.
Hands that have held on when everything felt like it was slipping away.
A heart that has loved deeply, even when it was broken.

If that is what it means to be common, then so be it.

If common means surviving in a world that tries to crush you, if it means feeling everything, if it means living despite the weight of existence—then we are all common.

And in that, we are extraordinary.