I was born a quiet and plump girl-child—with soft dimples in full cheeks and freckles sprinkled over fair skin.

I smiled more than I spoke, and I hugged more then I pushed.

There was no bullsh*t to deal with in my early years, because I created none. I was a child who was simple to care for—when I was young, I was told I was a delight.

I realized my habit of pleasantry followed me into adulthood, when one of the first descriptors people use for me is still: “She is sooo sweet.”

But I wonder if they ever stop and ask themselves: “What is under sweet?”

When we look closer and unwrap the sugary package, we sometimes discover that there are different things beneath.

Some treats are filled with soft, smooth custard insides. Some are filled with stuff that is coarse and tart. This one right here—she was comprised with the ingredients to make a fire.

Underneath my smile there are always explosives waiting to ignite. Pyrotechnic technicians designed my interior with the capability to produce a fine show.

This sometimes surprises people. It used to surprise me. That the still calm of a silent lake could turn quickly into a deep southern storm—with winds whipping and water flying—can be a shock.

It happens though, in those of us who observe more then we interact. There is a shift in consciousness when we listen often rather then speak. Our thoughts build up into big dreams and one massive voice, and we must eventually let them out—especially if what is happening to us or the world is unjust.

When we stretch our power, it might appear to others that we explode. Really, what we are doing is using our internal combustion system to create. We use it to inspire us to move forward. We use it to propel us out of darkness and turmoil. We detonate it when our boundaries need proper definition.

It brings a smile to my lips when I hear someone say, “She is sooo nice.”

I think to myself: “Good.” It is best that they think this way.

Because, it is true that I am nice and I am sweet.

However, I am also a f*cking firecracker.

When my wick gets going, I am a force that cannot be stopped.

I am a woman who ignites her own flame.

Those who know me well, call me “fierce.”

“Pushy” has been used too—but to me, I am just free.

I know what I am made of, and it doesn’t have to be what others think—I don’t correct people anymore when they comment on my demeanor. They can keep to their ideas.

What matters is I am certain that—like a 12 o’clock New Year’s Eve display—I enliven the night sky. Sometimes the world won’t expect it when a “pleasant” woman decides to blow, but this is what makes illumination all the more fun.

Shining is what we were planted here for.

If we appear subtle on the outside, we surely have a thousand sparklers going off within. With endless ignition in our soul and abundant fuel in our heart, our spark will always enable us to rise. And rise, we most assuredly will.

Like those birthday candles made impossible to blow out, we will not be extinguished—no matter who blows or how hard.

When people label us, we can think back to what the universe truly constructed us for. It did not bring us together so that we would be only one way. It brought us here so we can enjoy a good show.

Bright and multi-colored events make for better memories, don’t you agree?

Nice and sweet regularly serve my purpose—I am left alone when I display myself in this way. People who spend their time always fighting are too much in the limelight. I prefer plenty of space to work and dream.

I don’t mind if people meet me and think: “Simply, sweet.”

Sweet is only one piece of my wholeness.

I do get excited though, when I imagine them discovering the other things I am made of—the things that smell of sulfur and leave behind wisps smoke.

Crackle. Bam. Boom. Pop. Pop. Pop.

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Author: Sarah Norrad

Editor: Yoli Ramazzina

Photo: Unsplash