Paper is a Backstabber

People always say paper is patient, paper is loyal, paper can take anything. Cute. But let's be real for a second; paper is also a liar. A silent, smiling deceiver that lets you pour your soul out and then casually betrays you in the light of day. I've been there. We've all been there.

You write something at 3 a.m., feeling like Shakespeare's long-lost genius child. You pour your soul out. Tears might even be shed. Then the sun rises, you reread it, and suddenly you're like, who wrote this? A sleep-deprived raccoon? The paper didn't stop you. It just sat there, smirking, letting you embarrass yourself in Times New Roman.

Papers will remind you of every bad decision you've ever made. They don't forget. They don't soften with time. They hold every version of you; the hopeful, the heartbroken, the naïve, and the desperate in permanent ink.

The angry note you scribbled but never gave them? Still burns in your hands.

The to-do lists from when you thought you had life figured out? Still mocks you in your own handwriting.

The carbon copy of your MDCAT OMR sheet, filled with so much hope? Still stares back, a cruel reminder that even your best wasn't good enough for a med school seat.

Papers preserves your past like a time capsule of regret. You tell yourself you've changed, grown, moved forward. But the papers sit there, unchanged, whispering: "Are you sure?"

Now let's get personal: your 6th-grade diary. Yeah, that thing. Life was hard (because someone stole your glitter pens). So, you poured your soul into your diary; your deepest thoughts, secrets, dramatic life updates, and yes, your most profound poetry ("love is like a potato... it has eyes but cannot see"). Fast forward to today. Your siblings (the traitors) find it. And suddenly, your entire family knows you once wrote, "I cried for thirty minutes because my mom decided my hair needed a 'trim.' It wasn't a trim." Cool. Coolcoolcool.

So yeah, paper is a deceiver, a snitch, and a hoarder of every version of you that you've tried to delete. It lets you overshare, then stabs you with nostalgia and secondhand embarrassment when you least expect it.

In the end, the pen might be mightier, but paper? Paper never forgets, and it never lets you forget either.

The Moral of the Story: Papers are like that one "friend" who says "No offense, but..." and then proceeds to annihilate your self-esteem. They pretend to be on your side, but deep down? They live for the drama.