People say college is where you find yourself.
For me, it was where I learned how easy it is to disappear.
I walked through the main hallway every morning with my head slightly down, not enough to look broken, but enough to avoid eye contact. Groups of students filled the space with laughter and noise, moving around me as if I were a pillar or a wall—something solid, present, but irrelevant.
No greetings.
No acknowledgment.
Just space.
I had learned early that reacting only made things worse. If you pretended not to hear, not to care, sometimes people lost interest. Sometimes.
"Look at the size of that guy…"
The whisper came from my left. I didn't turn my head. My steps didn't slow. I stared straight ahead like I hadn't heard a thing.
That was survival.
Inside the classroom, I took my usual seat at the back. Alone. I always chose the farthest chair, close to the wall, where I could shrink without being noticed. Three girls sat a few rows in front of me. They were the kind of girls who looked comfortable everywhere—laughing easily, confident, beautiful without trying.
One of them glanced back.
Our eyes met for half a second.
She smiled, then turned to her friends.
"Imagine going out with him," she said, not even bothering to whisper.
The others laughed.
I looked down at my notebook, gripping my pen so hard my fingers hurt. I started writing, even though the page stayed empty. The sound of their laughter echoed louder than the professor's voice.
It wasn't hatred.
Hatred would have meant I mattered.
This was something colder. Something quieter.
Being dismissed without effort.
During the break, I left the classroom as soon as I could. I hated the way people gathered in clusters, deciding who belonged and who didn't with their bodies alone. I walked outside and sat on a bench near the edge of campus, opening my lunch container.
I had packed it myself. Rice. Chicken. Simple. Cheap.
Safe.
I was halfway through my meal when a shoulder slammed into mine.
The container flipped from my hands, food scattering across the ground.
"Oops," a guy said behind me. "Didn't see you there."
Laughter followed. Not loud. Not cruel enough to cause trouble.
Just enough to hurt.
I looked up. He was already walking away with his friends, not even pretending to care. A few people nearby watched the scene unfold. Some smirked. Others looked away quickly, uncomfortable but unwilling to get involved.
No one helped.
I crouched down, my knees hitting the concrete as I tried to gather what I could. My hands trembled. I hated that they did. I hated that my body reacted before my mind could catch up.
My face burned.
Not with anger.
With shame.
That was the moment something inside me cracked.
Not loudly.
Not dramatically.
Quietly.
In the bathroom later, I locked myself in a stall and waited until the noise outside faded. When I finally stood in front of the mirror, I barely recognized the person staring back at me.
Rounded shoulders.
Soft body.
Eyes that looked tired in a way sleep couldn't fix.
I pressed my palms against the sink and leaned forward.
This wasn't just about weight.
It never had been.
It was about presence.
Or the lack of it.
I clenched my fists.
"Never again," I whispered, my voice barely audible.
That night, my room felt smaller than usual. The walls closed in as I lay on my bed, staring at the ceiling. My phone glowed in the dark, illuminating words I had typed without thinking.
Gym near me.
How to lose weight fast.
How to stop being weak.
I scrolled for hours. Workout videos. Diet advice. Motivation quotes that sounded fake but still stirred something uncomfortable in my chest.
Pain.
Discipline.
Consistency.
Words that felt distant. Unreal.
I wasn't angry enough to punch a wall. I wasn't dramatic enough to swear revenge. What I felt was worse.
Tired.
Tired of being invisible.
Tired of hoping people would change.
Tired of waiting for respect that never came.
No one was coming to save me.
That truth settled deep inside my chest, heavy and undeniable.
So I made a decision.
Not a promise.
Not a dream.
A decision.
I would build someone the world couldn't push aside.
Not to prove them wrong.
Not to impress anyone.
But so that the next time someone looked at me, they wouldn't see an easy target.
They would see someone who stood his ground.
I turned off my phone and sat in the dark for a long time, listening to my own breathing.
Tomorrow, nothing would magically change.
But tomorrow, I would start.
And this time, I wouldn't quit.