Why I’ve Stopped Trying to Be a ‘Main Character’

At some point, the soft-focus montage turned into sweatpants and peace — and honestly, I prefer it.

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There was a time I believed I could be a “main character.” You know, the kind who wears floaty linen, journals in cafés, and has soft lighting follow her like a loyal, unpaid intern. I imagined myself sipping a cappuccino while reading a dog-eared classic, looking mysteriously unbothered. Like a woman who knows her angles and isn’t afraid to pause for them.

So one day, I did it. Got dressed. Picked a book I had no intention of finishing. Found a “picturesque café” with outdoor seating. Sat down, took a deep breath, and waited for my life to become aesthetic.

Fifteen minutes in, I was bored, sweaty, and deeply uncomfortable. Reading outside in 37°C is not whimsical. It is masochism in slow motion. My thighs were stuck to the chair, my book was wilting, and the only thing that happened with soft lighting was a sweat moustache.

I left, defeated, and flung myself onto my couch in pyjamas, under a fan, with no audience except my dog. And that’s when it hit me.

Somewhere along the way, “main character energy” stopped being a joke and became a job.
We weren’t just living anymore — we were performing…