I am an outsider. I am the one peering inside a house from outside the window. I stand in the cold snow, all alone and maybe deep inside I am scared too. I peer inside to see a nicely laid dinner table. I see a family of people. The one who dominates, the one who is liked by all, the one who follows blindly, the one who has integrity and the one who is humorous. They all seem to form a perfect equilibrium. I like peering at them. Never once did I get the thought of joining them. I see them and I admired the integrity, I laughed at the jokes cracked, I was moved by the follower’s faith, the calmness of the well-liked one and the confidence of the dominant one. But never once did I dare to go inside. After they were done with their dinner they spotted me, tried to bring me in and even stayed outside for me. But I guess I like being the outsider because I no one will peer at me, look up to to me, expect something from me and most importantly try to take away my independence from me. The cold and snowy weather belonged to me, it was and is harsh but I have grown up with this weather and I sure believe I am equipped to handle it. But what I am truly afraid of is being the insider. I am possessive about my wintry territory and I won’t share it with anyone or not at least an insider. Whenever I am questioned on if I am a follower or a leader, I will still say I am an outsider. I am imperfect, the broken and the one with no charm. I do want the privilege the insiders get but not at the cost of losing my individuality.