“Never let anyone treat you like a yellow Starburst. You are a pink Starburst.”

Yeah, no thanks.

When I first heard this phrase, I was enthralled. I was taken back to thinking, “Everyone likes pink Starbursts; I’d love to be treated like one.”

The sheer notion of anyone and everyone liking me was so mesmerizing, like a time lapse of a pile of Starbursts melting on a hot summer day. I had an inclination for people to like me so much that I created different personalities for every group and individual I was with. 

This seemingly harmless and empowering expression tore apart my true identity.

I did not understand that no one knew the genuine me, not even myself. How is someone supposed to like me if I alter my personality?

How am I supposed to like myself?

How am I supposed to know myself?

How am I supposed to be myself?

I’m still just a kid; I do not know who I am, nor do I need to. But finding this phrase at seven-years-old and letting it dictate my life has abandoned me far from where I should be on my journey of self-discovery. 

Being authentic and being myself means that not everyone is going to like me. Not everyone likes yellow Starbursts, but they still exist.

A yellow Starburst does not need everyone to like it. It is tart, sickening in bulk, and not as artificial as many would like, but it’s also classic, original, and nothing Starburst-related would be the same without it.

A yellow Starburst tastes as if you are drinking a water bottle full of fresh-squeezed lemon juice with only a pinch of sugar.

I am striving to be a yellow Starburst.

I want to be a tall, thirst-quenching, cold as an iceberg glass of lemonade on a humid, blistering Friday afternoon.

I want to be an illuminating ray of sunshine coming through the dull, dark skies during a day of skiing at Vail, making dimension of what used to look like a flat path.

I do not want everyone to like me. My life is not some utopian coming-of-age movie for everyone to desire. My life is a whirlwind of thoughts, emotions, and people, and not all of them are good.

I am not a fluorescent bubblegum colored piece of meaningless candy; not everyone wants me. 

I am a controversially sour, shining, and hard-to-read yellow Starburst; not everyone will like me. Those that do will stay and treat me like no one else could.

That’s more than enough for me.