I sat on the edge of my bed, staring at the walls off my room, adorned with various knick-knacks and an array of artistic photos. It was a colorful space to which my eyes always wandered when seeking inspiration.

Despite the mixture of brightly-toned paper and cork—I saw nothing. No glossy materials dipped in the hues of my expressions. No words of encouragement derived from inspirational texts or my own mind. No lurid notes in my messy script. No memories to remind me to smile.

Nothing.

A darkness had consumed me, and I had forgotten it all.

It’s funny how you can miss what you’ve never had. It’s almost like a cruel function of the human mind, or the piece of your heart still left from the hope of the life you imagined you could’ve had. A hope that was created from society’s definition of the perfect life—because, lets face it: we’ve all envisioned perfection even when we know reality is anything but.

For me, this loss, this hope, and this fear all aggregate into one harrowing entity; a being I call my Kryptonite.

Kryptonite. Everyone has their own. It exhibits that we all are knowledgable of at least one thing we become most vulnerable to. It is a fear that barrels into our strongest walls and strips us of what time has taken so long to procure. The greatest difficulty, is coming to terms with the truth of what it is. Kryptonite causes us to lose control. And with hardly a flicker, it can ignite a blaze within us.

In the instance I sat in that empty room pondering over what it was that devoured me so, I faced the ultimate veracity of my life-long qualm. It was then, that I watched this girl, identical in all her features to my own being, and finally discovered what my Kryptonite had brutally deteriorated: her world.

Her dark brown eyes widened in realization. Her seemingly impregnable walls had crumbled, and she was suddenly torn apart from what reality is and what she wanted reality to be.

It was something she needed to learn though, no matter how painful the task; for it helped her to grow. She had finally awakened from the dream of someone else’s transformation.

They say change is the only constant, but my Kryptonite will never alter in what it is. Why? Because modifying other people isn’t how you live life. Hoping for someone to change, to better themselves and become someone greater can bring you no closer to the truth then a dream that was never yours to begin with.

My Kryptonite will never change.

But it’s effect on me can.

Kryptonite is meant to show that even the most valiant of beings are flawed in some way. It’s effect is always the same though; it’s power increasing the greater its presence. But it cannot deter us from growing, from becoming stronger, and to becoming greater ourselves.

I’m changing everyday. With the glimmering rays of dawn that shine upon the world each day, I wake up trying to be someone better. To be someone good. The beauty of it though, is that I know I’m not perfect and I accept myself because of it.

This being, my Kryptonite, will continue to challenge me into capitulation presumably, for the rest of my life. Words will haunt me. Visceral images will patronize me. Pain will proceed to surge within me during my weaker moments. And what’s worse, I will still feel the need to accept the Kryptonite, and care no matter how much harm is brought to me. But I can’t, for I’ve resolved that the crack embedded in my heart will cease to spread any further. For if I’ve learned anything from this entity, it is that I refuse to surround myself with it.

I’ve woken up from the dream.

Though Kryptonite will always be my greatest weakness, I will not back down in striving for eminence. I will smile and stand. I will walk out of that empty room and into the warmth of another.

And I will be stronger because of it.

At the end of the day, it wont matter what life has taken from me. What will matter is the meaning I give my life from what and who I do have. And when I finally look back at all that I’ve accomplished, I will breathe a little thank you to the Kryptonite.

Because I became stronger in its absence.

-Kiran Bains Sahota