One would look at my thin legs and call me a feeble being. Next, they would probably move on to my body, gracefully jumping over dried-up branches or ripe fruit in order to keep my hooves clean. My eyes seem pure and full of light, colliding with stars and hope.

Indeed, no one could see me surviving a fall or a storm or heartbreak. For a long time, I was content with believing them. What is the point of trying to figure yourself out if someone else has already done the work for you? And, by all means, it seemed like an accurate description! Every time I wiggle my nose, I fear it will come loose and glide right off of my face. Each time I get my white spots wet with rain, I worry they will be washed away. What part of me is truly my own?  

It is rather difficult. Difficult to imagine myself detached from everything I have been associated with. A symbol for gentleness and intuition, how could I ever rise above that? And is that not enough? To be regarded as elegant and soft? No, not truly. Because apparently it leaves no room for counterparts. If one is soft, they cannot stand up for themselves. Moreover, they should not. Why shatter such a beautiful illusion? Why stain innocence with such an act of immoral violence? Namely, knowing who you are.Surely, this is what I thought. And it seemed to soothe me as well. After all, maybe I was meant to be sensitive and nothing more. That is also a noble way of living. Some are meant to live and others to survive. I belong to the first category.

Or do I? Recently, something has happened to me, changing the whole novel I made up about myself. I remember it so vividly, I must think the images have burnt their will onto my retina. In front of a slow-dancing lake, I was gazing at my reflection. My ears have caught a stray leaf while doing my morning frolicking. I kept shaking my head, but my aquatic self told me the intruder had not given up its place yet.

It did fall out eventually. Once I heard a loud pang from the heart of the forest and turned my head too quickly towards the source of the distress, the leaf decided I was not being a proper host anymore. I did not want to think about a bitter scenario. The sound could have originated from various sources: trees plummeting, animals hitting the ground, harmless people wandering around. But no, I recognized that sound. It was a weapon, a hunting weapon. One that was targeted towards me.

After the initial sound, there came others. Voices – careful whispers mainly. Footsteps and ruffled leaves. I could not deny it any longer, they were hunters, coming to take me down. So I ran. I did not even look back or around. The wild hallway of green and dirt was the only element I could focus my attention on. Otherwise, I would let fear be my downfall.

My seemingly feeble legs were quicker than the men’s. They were stronger and wiser, helping me avoid all rocks and unsteady ground, balancing my weight at the same time. I think they meant to be stealthy, but after some time they started growing impatient with loitering around. They were following me, trying their best to shoot their rifles. Nothing was hitting me. They could not even keep up with my pace. Around three grown-up humans against a doe-eyed critter. I would have laughed if I had the lungs for it in that particular instant.

Then I saw it. At my left, there was a narrow opening in the bushes. I knew that natural tunnel. Sometimes used as a shortcut, it leads to one of my friend’s burrow. A hideout, a safe place. However, a thought was screaming in my head, one that I could not ignore, no matter how much I wanted to. I did not want to hide. I wanted to get out of this and be safe – no doubt! But I wanted to create my own victory.

I was no fool. I wanted to fight back, but I did not have that much of a chance against three people. I needed to get rid of at least one of them. My first instinct was always the right one, so I changed my trajectory and took the men on a different path in the woods. I knew that there was a man-dug hole, covered by a thick layer of leaves and grass. No animal was dim enough to fall for it. Alas, two of the men did.

Left with only one predator, I circled my way back to the lake. I could hear him panting and trying to catch his breath. I felt as if I was flying. Everything was light and airy, I had never felt so alive before! Once I got him to follow me to the edge of the water, I suddenly came to a halt. He was confused, which I was counting on. Without being able to process the situation, I rose on my hind legs and kicked him right in the cold muddy water. I could hear his weapon hit the ground with a defeated sound. After decorating the top of his head with a healthy amount of dirt and rocks, I turned my back and left. Now I could visit my friend and offer her some gossip. The best possible outcome!

Does this rush of enthusiasm mean I would enjoy getting hunted every day? Of course not! It was not about the chase at all. This whole ordeal just proved me wrong in the most delightful way. My graceful body moves quicker and smarter than a heavy one. I can pass through confined spaces, take sudden turns and jump effortlessly. My heartfelt eyes can see clearly and focus on every detail. My fragile ears pick up on every sound, assuring my safety.

I can be majestic and strong at the same time. I can eat fruits from a friendly visitor’s palm and kick a rude one in the face. My sensitivity was never a white flag. Just a unique type of armor for a unique soldier.

And just to be clear, this is not a hate letter against humans. The majority of them are amazing and gentle (for example, the girlies conducting this interview)! I merely mentioned the hunter’s cruelty because it happened and it had a clear purpose in the story. There are bad people everywhere, I am aware of that. Nonetheless, I shall not let that make me not believe in kindness. I have met so many wonderful souls who have fed me, caressed me or tended to my wounded legs. This was not meant as a judgment, just as a vehicle to drive my story forward.

Which I hope it did. I hope you also dwell in a reality where softness and strength can work together. Where one draws its force from the other. If not, be the tenderness you want to see in the world. Be elegant, but firm. Empathic, but a fond creator of boundaries. Love with open arms, yet close them when someone draws their sword. Find your own solutions, ones that work without taking away from your dignity. Discover your own way of fighting back, be it with fists or words or simply footsteps back to yourself.

And don’t be afraid of going out in the rain. It will never wash off your dots.