Iron Fist, Velvet glove.

What would you carve on your epitaph? What would you want your eulogy to speak about you? How would you like to be remembered?

Mine probably would be a phrase I’ve always identified with, indefinitely. Iron fist in Velvet Glove.  In other words, a strong heart within a soft soul.

Often times, I’ve had people come up to me and tell me, that there seems to be a disconnect between what I come across as, in my writings, and what I actually am. My physical countenance is apparently a much, much softer version of my fierce, sometimes even fiery self, that one might encounter were they to read my work. So much so, I’ve even been told that one could never imagine that a naive, innocent looking face like mine could heart a sharp, strong mind.

Maybe this is a compliment. Or maybe its not. Yet, I’ll still take it with a pinch of salt. And some lime and sugar.

Looks can be deceptive, I say. Don’t judge a book by its cover, I say. Yet what I also say, is that passion need not necessarily translate to aggression. Just because you are very, very passionate about something doest mean that you need to have that written all over you. Passion must reflects in one’s actions. Not face.

My writings occasionally might portray me a hardcore feminist, an angry young woman, almost. Yet, in reality. I know I never will be one. Just like even the toughest of diamonds are enclosed in the softest of velvet cloth, so I too shall continue to be. An iron fist in a velvet glove.


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