Draft 1

Iraisly Arenas

Professor McDonald

English 203W 215A

02/ 18/ 2026

A Letter to The Mirror

Dear Mirror, who cannot hear me,

I’m writing the way people write their storms when they don’t know where to place them. They

say you don’t answer, but I think you do. I’ve seen it… in the way you turn silence into images

and images into truths. You’re more than “just glass.”

Tomorrow is my turn. I’ll be sixteen. They drag you to the center of the town and place you

before the stand like a confession. The elders call it a blessing. The children call it the scariest

thing that can happen in public without someone actually dying. To me, you are unfair. You don’t

show faces. You show what a person believes they deserve. And I am terrified you’ll show the

part of me that thinks love is earned by being easy.

Tonight, the house smells of onion and beans. My mother made all bean soup- my favorite, even

after coming home late, exhaustion pressed into her eyes. She stirred slowly, as if she moved too

fast, something might spill.

“Ven a comer,” she said, placing the bowl at my corner by the window. Hear words will be sung

again: Eat. Study. Sleep. Don’t forget who you are….

“You’ll do fine tomorrow.”“I don’t want to go,” I said.

“You have to. You’re a good kid,” she added, fastening the word good, onto me like armor. “You

work hard. You don’t make trouble. You’ll see something beautiful.” And that’s the thing, Mirror.

She said it as if beauty were a reward for obedience. Like love arrives the way soup does, but

what happens when you let it cool for too long?

I wanted to ask what if mistakes are how we learn. What if I’m tired of being good? But the

words died. My mother’s love has always had a shape: cracked hands, warm soup, silence when

disappointed. I’ve spent most of my life avoiding that silence. My father left when I was eleven.

He said he needed “more air.” I watched from the stairwell as he lifted his satchel and kissed my

mother’s cheek like she was a book he’d finished reading.

“I tell our kids that I love them, “and I remember thinking, quietly and dangerously: If I had been

better, he would have stayed. That thought grew like a thorn. So, I learned to be better. Smaller.

Easier to keep. Mirror, if you show me tomorrow that I deserve love only when I am perfect, I

won’t know what to do. I already live like that’s true.

Dear Mirror,

Sleep won’t come. I keep seeing you at the center of the town with your gold branches curling

around your frame. I’ve seen what you show people. You showed Juniper a house full of

laughter. You showed Tyler someone walking away again and again. You showed my cousin a

table filled with strangers who treated her worse than death. She didn’t leave the room for a

week. No one told her that belief is not destiny. They whispered, poor thing, like your image was

already a sentence. That’s what scares me the most, not what you show but what people think it

means.In literature class, our teacher gave us a line:

“We accept the love we think we deserve.”

The room went quiet. Because everyone knows what it feels like to accept something that hurts

when asking for better feels impossible. I wrote the line down and hid it under my mattress. Now

it feels like it’s burning through the fabric. What if you and that sentence… are the same kind of

mirror? What if you show me what I’ve already been living?

Dear Mirror,

Morning arrived dressed in quiet, and I felt you watching my mother braid my hair tightly. I

didn’t complain.

“You’re strong,” she said.

Strong. Good. Responsible. Words that sound like love until they start to feel like a leash. At the

center of town, elders waited, and you were there, tall, gold, and watching. Old Sera spoke:

“The mirror will show you the love you believe you deserve. You may accept it, resist it, or

change it.”

I stepped forward. At first, only fog. Then an image formed.

I saw myself older in fact… standing across from someone blurred and distant. Not cruel. Just

uninterested. I watched myself smile too quickly. Nod too much. Swallow something bitter and

pretend it was sweet.

They turned away. Not dramatically. Just… done.And I followed. Shrinking. Trying to be easier to keep. My stomach dropped. I recognized that

version. Not as my future, but as my belief.

The one that says love must be earned.

The one that says being left means you failed.

The one who accepts less because asking for more feels dangerous.

“No,” I whispered. Then louder, “I don’t want this.”

Something long silent inside me finally spoke.

“I DESERVE TO BE MET, not tolerated. Met”

The reflection trembled. The blurred figure sharpened, and at first time, I did not look smaller. I

looked at ease. In that moment, I understood:

The mirror had not revealed my future. It had revealed a belief. And beliefs can be rewritten.

-From the kid before you

Author’s note:

For this one-line assignment, I center my story around the quote, “We accept the love we think

we deserve.” Which comes from my favorite book, The Perks of Being a Wallflower , by Stephen

Chbosky. I chose this line because it captures how our beliefs shape the love we accept and the

standards we set for ourselves. My biggest challenge was getting started and organizing my ideas

in a way that truly reflected the meaning of that quote. At first, I had no direction, none, but once

I began writing, I generated more material than expected. Narrowing everything down into one

focused story felt overwhelming……I also struggled with whether to include dialogue. I chose to include it because I believed it

would strengthen the emotional impact, though I questioned whether it fully succeeded. I did not

visit the Writing Center because I often struggled to ask for help when I was unsure what I

needed. Instead, I overcame these challenges by drafting freely and revising patiently, allowing

myself to accept mistakes as part of the process.

Through this experience, I realized that the way I treat my writing mirrors how I treat myself.

Allowing myself to trust my creativity and rewrite my beliefs helped me see that I deserve more

patience, grace, and confidence in both my work and myself. I think you should, too.

I used ChatGPT to reduce repetition, clarify sentences, and refine organization, reviewing all

suggestions to maintain my original voice.

Revision Summary:

• I clarified the central theme by directly connecting my story to the quote,

“We accept the

love we think we deserve.

” I revised the mirror scene to show that the reflection

represents a belief rather than a fixed future, strengthening the story’s theme.

• I expanded the emotional depth of the father’s departure scene. I added the line “if I had

been better, he would have stayed.” To show how the narrator internalized blame and

developed the belief that love must be earned.

• I strengthened the ending by refining the narrator’s declaration: “I DESERVE TO BE

MET, not tolerated.

” This revision made the climax more decisive and reinforced the

story’s message about rewriting harmful beliefs.• I revised multiple sentences for clarity and flow, especially in transitions between letter

sections, to improve the readability and emotional pacing.

Links:

• https://chatgpt.com/share/6995f9d2-c200-800e-b52c-a21b82650b24

• The Perks of Being a Wallflower by Stephen Chbosky (1999 novel)

Line: “We accept the love we think we deserve.

” (Page-26 or 24 [depending on the

edition]) [Who said it: Bill the teacher, did, and he said to Charlie]

---

Final Version

   Iraisly Arenas

Feb/ 16/ 2026

   A Letter to The Mirror

Dear Mirror, who cannot hear me,

I’m writing the way people write their storms when they don’t know where to place them. They say you don’t answer, but I think you do. I’ve seen it… in the way you turn silence into images and images into truths. You’re more than “just glass.”

Tomorrow is my turn. I’ll be sixteen.  They drag you to the center of the town and place you before the stand like a confession. The elders call it a blessing. The children call it the scariest thing that can happen in public without someone actually dying. To me, you are unfair. You don’t show faces. You show what a person believes they deserve. And I am terrified you’ll show the part of me that thinks love is earned by being easy.

Tonight, the house smells of onion and beans. My mother made all bean soup- my favorite, even after coming home late, exhaustion pressed into her eyes. She stirred slowly, as if she moved too fast, something might spill.

“Ven a comer,” she said, placing the bowl at my corner by the window. Hear words will be sung again: Eat. Study. Sleep. Don’t forget who you are….

“You’ll do fine tomorrow.”

“I don’t want to go,” I said.

“You have to. You’re a good kid,” she added, fastening the word good, onto me like armor. “You work hard. You don’t make trouble. You’ll see something beautiful.” And that’s the thing, Mirror.

She said it as if beauty were a reward for obedience. Like love arrives the way soup does, but what happens when you let it cool for too long?

I wanted to ask what if mistakes are how we learn. What if I’m tired of being good? But the words died. My mother’s love has always had a shape: cracked hands, warm soup, silence when disappointed. I’ve spent most of my life avoiding that silence. My father left when I was eleven. He said he needed “more air.” I watched from the stairwell as he lifted his satchel and kissed my mother’s cheek like she was a book he’d finished reading.

“I tell our kids that I love them, “and I remember thinking, quietly and dangerously: If I had been better, he would have stayed. That thought grew like a thorn. So, I learned to be better. Smaller. Easier to keep. Mirror, if you show me tomorrow that I deserve love only when I am perfect, I won’t know what to do. I already live like that’s true.

Dear Mirror,

Sleep won’t come. I keep seeing you at the center of the town with your gold branches curling around your frame. I’ve seen what you show people. You showed Juniper a house full of laughter. You showed Tyler someone walking away again and again. You showed my cousin a table filled with strangers who treated her worse than death. She didn’t leave the room for a week. No one told her that belief is not destiny. They whispered, poor thing, like your image was already a sentence. That’s what scares me the most, not what you show but what people think it means.

In literature class, our teacher gave us a line:

“We accept the love we think we deserve.”

The room went quiet. Because everyone knows what it feels like to accept something that hurts when asking for better feels impossible. I wrote the line down and hid it under my mattress. Now it feels like it’s burning through the fabric. What if you and that sentence… are the same kind of mirror? What if you show me what I’ve already been living?

Dear Mirror,

Morning arrived dressed in quiet, and I felt you watching my mother braid my hair tightly. I didn’t complain.

“You’re strong,” she said.

Strong. Good. Responsible. Words that sound like love until they start to feel like a leash. At the center of town, elders waited, and you were there, tall, gold, and watching. Old Sera spoke:

“The mirror will show you the love you believe you deserve. You may accept it, resist it, or change it.”

I stepped forward. At first, only fog. Then an image formed.

I saw myself older in fact… standing across from someone blurred and distant. Not cruel. Just uninterested. I watched myself smile too quickly. Nod too much. Swallow something bitter and pretend it was sweet.

They turned away. Not dramatically. Just… done.

And I followed. Shrinking. Trying to be easier to keep. My stomach dropped. I recognized that version. Not as my future, but as my belief.

The one that says love must be earned.

The one that says being left means you failed.

The one that accepts less because asking for more feels dangerous.

“No,” I whispered. Then louder, “I don’t want this.”

Something long silent inside me finally spoke.

“I DESERVE TO BE MET, not tolerated. Met”

The reflection trembled. The blurred figure sharpened, and at first time, I did not look smaller. I looked at ease. In that moment, I understood:

The mirror had not revealed my future. It had revealed a belief. And beliefs can be rewritten.

-From the kid before you

Writer’s Note:
For this one-line assignment, I centered my story around the quote, “We accept the love we think we deserve,” which comes from my favorite book, The Perks of Being a Wallflower, by Stepen Chbosky. I chose this line because it captures how our beliefs shape the love we accept and the standards we set for ourselves.

My biggest challenge was getting started and organizing my ideas in a way that truly reflected the meaning of that quote. At first, I had no direction, but once I began writing, I generated more material than expected. Narrowing everything down into one focused story felt overwhelming.

I also struggled with whether to include dialogue. I chose to include it because I believed it would strenghten the emotional impact, though I questioned whether it fully succeeded. I did not visit the Writing Center becuase I often struggled to ask for help whenever I felt unsure of what I needed help with. Instead, I overcame these challenges by drafting freely and revising patiently, allowing myself to accept mistakes as part of the process.

Through this experience, I realized that the way I treat my writing mirrors how I treat myself. Allowing myself to trust my creativity and rewrite my beliefs helped me see that I deserved more patience, grace, and confidence in both my work and myself. I think you should, too.

I used ChatGPT to reduce repetition, clarify sentences, and refine organization, reviewing all suggestions to maintain my original voice.
Revisions I made:

• I clarified the central theme by directly connecting my story to the quote, “We accept the love we think we deserve.” I revised the mirror scene to show that the reflection represents a belief rather than a fixed future, strengthening the story’s theme.
• I expanded the emotional depth of the father’s departure scene. I added the line, “If I had been better, he would have stayed” to show how the narrator internalized blame and developed the belief that love must be earned.
• I strengthened the ending by refining the narrator’s declaration: “I DESERVE TO BE MET, not tolerated.” This revision made the climax more decisive and reinforced the story’s message about rewriting harmful beliefs.
• I revised multiple sentences for clarity and flow, especially in transitions between letter sections, to improve the readability and emotional pacing.

Here are the links:

• https://chatgpt.com/share/6995f9d2-c200-800e-b52c-a21b82650b24

• The Perks of Being a Wallflower by Stephen Chbosky (1999 novel)

• Line: “We accept the love we think we deserve.” (Page-26 or 24 [depending on theedition]) [Who said it: Bill the teacher, did, and he said to Charlie]