A Mask Can Only Last Until Truth Walks In - Chanakya Niti

For the one who became light by walking through fire, and still had to watch others claim the glow as their own. There are people who want your crown, but not your scars. They see the strength, the poise, the wisdom in your words, and they assume it came easy. They mimic your walk, your words, your warmth. But they forget—or maybe never knew—that it wasn't light that built you. It was darkness. Because no one sees the nights you cried yourself silent. The decisions you made with trembling hands. The storms you didn’t just survive—you became. And when you stood up, polished but scarred, quiet but fierce, they mistook your grace for ease. They wanted what you showed, but not what you endured to show it. They didn’t love your journey. They envied your destination.


"As gold is tested in four ways by rubbing, cutting, heating and beating — so a man should be tested by these four things: his renunciation, his conduct, his qualities and his actions."
You ever meet someone who starts dressing like you, quoting your favorite books, even laughing like you? At first, it’s flattering—until it starts to feel like you’re watching a badly dubbed version of your own life. But here’s the tea: They’re not inspired. They’re auditioning. For your life. And what they don’t get is, that look in your eyes—the one that comes from dragging your dignity through a hundred mistakes and still showing up? That can’t be copied. You earned that wisdom. You bled for that insight. You survived storms they didn’t even know existed. It’s like they watched your highlight reel but skipped the behind-the-scenes where you cried on the bathroom floor.
You become the blueprint… while they build the house and put their name on the gate. It’s not just frustrating. It’s soul-wounding. Because you didn’t stumble upon this light—you built it, brick by bloody brick, with pain as mortar.
And when someone wears your wisdom like an accessory, it feels like your suffering is being rewritten, as if it never mattered.


"The fragrance of flowers spreads only in the direction of the wind. But the goodness of a person spreads in all directions."
People who float with the wind? Romantic in poems, exhausting in real life. They’ll wish for your sunshine but panic when they see your storm. They want the applause without the auditions. The glow without the burn. And the second life gets gritty—like real, unfiltered-crying-on-voice-note gritty—they start asking, “Wait, how did you survive this?” And your answer? “I didn’t pretend. I lived it.”
Because the ones who imitate always fall apart when life gets real. They don’t have roots—just replicas. They don’t have resilience—just rehearsed lines. So when the storm hits—and it always does—they’ll look around confused. But you? You’ve already been through the storm. You’re made of it.


"There is some self-interest behind every friendship. There is no friendship without self-interests. This is a bitter truth."
Here’s the cruel twist: The ones who try to be everything to everyone usually end up being nothing to themselves. They’ll change tones like Instagram filters. They’ll wear personalities like outfits. And yet… still not enough. Because they’re not chasing authenticity. They’re running—from themselves. It’s tragic, honestly. Because deep down, they don’t hate you. They hate themselves. But masks slip. Every. Time. Truth doesn’t knock. It breaks the door down. And when it does, what’s underneath isn’t always pretty.
What they don’t realize is—your wisdom wasn’t learned in books or borrowed from quotes. It came from breaking. From starting over. From being the one who held everything together while quietly falling apart. They think becoming you is about aesthetics. But your real power? It’s in your silence after betrayal. It’s in the way you chose to heal when hate would’ve been easier. It’s in the way you show up—real, raw, and unshaken—because you know who you are.


“The earth is supported by the power of truth; it is the power of truth that makes the sun shine and the winds blow; indeed all things rest upon truth.”
Here’s the truth no one’s ready for: You can’t fake soul. You can’t download depth. You can’t pretend your way into self-respect. You can curate an aesthetic. You can mimic mannerisms. You can even rehearse someone else’s wisdom. But when real life shows up with no filter and hard questions? Only the real ones stay standing. So don’t waste time obsessing over the ones trying to be you. They’re already lost in an identity maze with no exit. You? You’ve got truth. You’ve got roots. You’ve got you.
But don’t ever let their imitation make you question your originality. You didn’t arrive here by chance. You arrived by choosing truth when it was painful. By choosing to keep going when everything inside you screamed to stop. They may steal your words, your moves, even your mirror. But they will never steal your becoming. Because becoming isn’t visible—it’s lived.

To you, who built herself through pain, stood through storms, and still shines—don’t dim your light just because someone else is trying to fake the glow. Your truth is your legacy. And no one can wear that without earning it. And the world may not always recognize the original. But life does. And when truth walks in, masks crumble, illusions fade, and the quiet strength you carried for years will speak louder than any imitation ever could.