I stay with myself in the states that are rarely shown. In doubt, in vulnerability, in that quiet honesty where the need to please fades and presence remains. There is no performance here, no desire to be easily read. Only a slow acceptance of being many things at once — soft and sharp, held together and falling apart, strong precisely because nothing is being forced. This is a moment where attention turns inward and stops asking for approval. The body is no longer an object to be looked at, but a vessel of memory, experience, and quiet knowing. I choose to stay — without roles, without masks, without explanations. With me means staying in truth, one that needs no permission and no words.