It was around five years ago, when I gave it another try—posting a photo of myself on WhatsApp status, even though I knew not many would see it. I wasn't the kind of girl who felt brave enough to show her face. I didn't think I was pretty. But still, I shared it, knowing maybe only ten people would watch it. And strangely, I was fine with that. I had made peace with the quiet.

"You have beautiful eyes."

Someone replied to my story with a compliment I didn't know I needed more than anything. I had never thought my eyes were beautiful. So when someone noticed it, it made me start paying attention to my eyes—every time I looked in the mirror, or smiled in a photo. And slowly, I began to believe maybe he was being honest. Maybe he wasn't just trying to rescue my insecurity with some pretty words. Because back then, we were texting a lot—as friends who never met in real life, just online.

So at first, I thought it was just small talk. But now, even today, whenever I remember that moment, I somehow find myself agreeing: yes, my eyes are beautiful.

That compliment, strangely, validated the meaning of my name. Even before I got that compliment, I knew my name meant a girl with beautiful eyes. But I never truly lived in its meaning. I thought maybe it was just a name—something my parents picked without really thinking of the meaning. But to me, I've always liked the way it sounds when someone calls me by it. I love being called by that name. And after that one compliment, I started to believe maybe that name was meant for me. Maybe it was my parents' wish—for these eyes of mine to one day see the beauty in myself. For them, I was their beautiful daughter.

I feel like I was never really taught how to explain myself to others. So writing feels easier. Writing helps me be more honest than speaking ever could. Somehow, whenever I speak about something serious, my voice sounds like I'm about to cry. I don't even know how to defend myself when I'm angry or blamed. So what I do instead is stay silent. But strangely, all those emotions—all those feelings I only manage to write down—somehow also speak through my eyes.

I love how humans can use every part of their body as a language to express what they feel inside. And my favorite part is the eyes. I watch people's eyes when they talk excitedly, when emotions build up and their eyes start to tear, when they panic or feel lost, when fear shows through their gaze—when everything is spoken without a single word, if we only dare to look into their eyes and understand what's inside.

That's how I know, I speak the same language too—with my eyes. And I hope people understand it the same way.

There's a saying I often hear: eyes never lie. And I believe in that deeply. Because they don't just serve to see — they translate what the mouth can't say, what words fail to carry. Eyes are experts in silence. They're the first to respond to heartbreak, spilling tears that are often hard to hold back, as if they're letting the pain out with relief. And you know it hurts more than words could ever explain.

It would be so much easier if we all mastered this language and used it wisely. We wouldn't have to explain ourselves in long speeches, carefully picking words and tones and timing, just to be understood. When sometimes, all we need is the language of the eyes.

I love eyes—not just human ones, but the eyes of everything in this world that I can somehow translate. And I hope we'll always be able to use our eyes to speak—when they become the only safe place to hide, the only way to escape the pain of explaining with words.