Get ready with me for a pageant contest (31-01-2026)

I woke up so early to get myself prepared for the event the way people prepare for something they’ve already imagined a hundred times.

I rushed to prepare a meal

And I tried ironing my outfits

The invitation had been sitting on my desk for weeks, propped against a coffee mug like a quiet dare. I told myself I wouldn’t overthink it, which of course meant I did nothing but overthink it. I planned outfits in my head while brushing my teeth. I rehearsed small talk in the shower. I Googled the venue twice, just to make sure it was real and not one of those places that looks normal online but turns out to be a maze of glass doors and social confidence.

On the day of the event, I started early, as if punctuality could somehow compensate for nerves. I ironed a shirt I rarely wore, the kind that makes you stand a little straighter because it doesn’t forgive slouching. I tried it on, took it off, tried another one, then went back to the first because at least it felt honest. Shoes were wiped clean. Phone fully charged. I even practiced my “casual arrival face” in the mirror, the neutral expression that says I belong here instead of I might panic and flee.I decided to take a photo my trousers and my shoe

Before leaving, I stood still for a moment in my apartment, listening to the hum of the fridge and the distant traffic, grounding myself. This mattered, I told myself. Not because it would change my life, but because I had decided to show up.

The commute went smoothly, almost suspiciously so. No delays. No wrong turns. When I arrived, the building was already glowing with activity, light spilling through tall windows, silhouettes moving inside, laughter leaking out every time the doors opened. I took a breath, checked my reflection in the dark glass, and stepped forward.

That’s when I realized that no one were using there sage, though I took my own there but I never used it, this is how my sage is like

When we arrived at the event center, the host smiled politely and said; “I’m sorry we didn’t get enough seats and the ones we got are already occupied ,” that alone was enough and to my understanding meant we were standing at the event, as God may have it my royal counsel and I went out to take some photos.

I laughed softly, the reflexive kind. “Oh, maybe under a different spelling?”

She checked again. Same result. Still smiling, but now with that practiced firmness. “You can check with registration, but they’re inside.”

Inside. Past the door I couldn’t pass through.

So I stepped aside, right next to the entrance, telling myself it would only be a minute. People streamed past me, confident, chatting, badges bouncing against their chests. Someone held the door open without really seeing me. Another apologized absently as they squeezed by.

Minutes passed. Then more.

I stood there, hands loosely clasped, weight shifting from one foot to the other. The shirt I’d ironed so carefully felt suddenly too crisp, too intentional for someone just… standing. I watched the sky darken, the light inside grow warmer. Snippets of conversation floated out, plans, jokes, names I didn’t recognize.

Eventually, I understood what was happening.

I wasn’t going in.

Not because I wasn’t worthy or prepared or brave enough, but because somewhere between the invitation and the door, something hadn’t lined up. A missed RSVP. A misunderstanding. A technicality.

So I stood at the event.

Not attending it. Not leaving either.

Just standing there, present in the margins of it all, feeling a strange mix of embarrassment and pride. Embarrassment for being visible and awkward. Pride for having shown up anyway.

After a while, I stopped checking my phone and just watched. People arriving nervous and leaving energized. The rhythm of doors opening and closing. The night air cooling against my face.

When I finally walked away, it wasn’t with the disappointment I’d expected. It was quieter than that. I’d prepared myself to be inside, but instead I learned something else, that showing up doesn’t always look the way you imagine, and sometimes the effort still counts, even if all you do is stand at the edge and prove to yourself that you could.