Before Christmas, I placed a large order from Zara with the intention of trying on all the clothes that caught my eye in the app, keeping only those that fit best, and returning the rest. Since I was certain I’d be sending back at least half of it, I didn’t pay much attention to the prices — after all, not everything would stay with me. 

When the packages finally arrived, I spread them out across the table and began what could only be described as a full-blown fashion show. My beloved cat sat quietly on the couch, observing the commotion. I left the room for a moment to grab a glass of water. When I came back, I froze. There he was — sitting comfortably in one of the boxes, right on top of a premium wool dress, calmly clawing a hole straight through the middle of it. 

I was seconds away from a heart attack. The only thing keeping me conscious was a mix of despair and fury — I hadn’t even tried the dress on yet! I didn’t know if it fit, I hadn’t cut off the tag, I hadn’t even decided if I wanted to keep it. 

Of course, after throwing the cat out of the box, my first instinct was to limit the damage. My immediate thought was: “I’ll just return it and say it arrived like this. How could they even prove otherwise? Besides, the customer is always right — especially when it comes to big corporations.” 

So, with a heavy heart but unwavering focus, I started packing the return — still glancing obsessively at the price on the receipt, hoping it might somehow go down (it didn’t). And then, right in the middle of my “brilliant plan,” a thought struck me: “But this is fraud. You don’t deserve a refund.” 

Naturally, I tried to reason my way out of it. “If it were a small local business, of course I wouldn’t return it. But Zara? They charge huge markups and exploit their workers. They can afford it.” For a moment, I even convinced myself I was a tiny flicker of karma delivering cosmic justice. 

But the longer this internal dialogue went on, the clearer it became: it doesn’t matter who you deceive — deception is still deception. It’s not our role to judge others or decide who deserves punishment. Yet that’s exactly what I was doing — justifying my behavior by appointing myself judge and executioner of a fashion empire. 

If I truly believe that Zara’s practices are wrong, the only honest response is simple: stop buying from them. Does stealing from someone wealthy or distant make it any less of a theft just because, in our eyes, “they can afford it”? Unfortunately, no. 

When it comes to core values — or really any ethical principles, especially those simple and clearly defined — the answers to what’s right or wrong are usually obvious. Deep down, we always know. But out of convenience, fear, or self-interest, we try to silence our intuition and moral compass. 

If we feel uncertainty, shame, or discomfort, it’s often because we’re violating our internal code of ethics (though in the case of these emotions, their causes may also stem from other reasons and not necessarily from improper behavior). In those moments, we start rationalizing, justifying, and bending reality — though somewhere deep inside, we already know the truth.

So, what is this inner light? I propose a theory that it’s nothing more than a robust sense of self-confidence instilled through upbringing and nurtured into adulthood. It’s enriched with self-awareness, mindfulness, charisma, and a positive attitude, creating an enviable, explosive mix.

Akeem’s upbringing in a royal family emphasized his uniqueness from a young age. When parents and those closest to you consistently affirm your worth and uniqueness, you accept it as indisputable, much like the sunrise. In the palace, the prince interacted with numerous strangers, household staff, foreign dignitaries, and countless people eager to converse with him or merely share the same space. The outside world didn’t have a chance to erode his belief in his uniqueness; instead, it reinforced it. If the film’s protagonist had grown up in the “ordinary world,” his self-image, influenced by his parents, would likely change quickly during initial interactions with peers.

When I was a child, I loved to sing, and I did so whenever the opportunity arose. These impromptu home concerts, featuring songs from the likes of Britney Spears and the Spice Girls (I can’t hide the fact that I’m a millennial), were where I showcased my passion. My mother consistently praised my singing, often emphasizing how beautifully I sang and how much talent I had. I wholeheartedly believed her.

However, my first painful encounter with doubt occurred when I was just six years old. I wanted to perform on stage during a children’s festival. The event allowed anyone willing to present their favorite song and win lollipops. My mother was horrified by my idea, and she even offered me sweets not to perform. She feared that I would embarrass myself and, by extension, her. Whether I would have succeeded or failed, we’ll never know. That’s when shame took root in me.

I clung to my belief in my talent for years, at least until my time in middle school. I volunteered to sing a hymn in the church during mass. I attended a private Catholic gymnasium where we began each weekday with a school mass. I vividly recall starting to sing, only to be met with laughter from my classmates. Looking back now, it’s unclear whether they laughed because I was off-key or simply out of defiance and boredom. Regardless, that was the last time I sang in public. The experience shook my faith in myself and my abilities to such an extent that I still speak more softly when I’m stressed or feeling insecure.

The external world can significantly influence a child’s self-esteem, which is often untouched by judgments and opinions. Akeem, the character from ‘Coming to America,’ never had the opportunity to experience such doubt because he received unwavering assurance of his value and uniqueness from everyone he encountered, whether sincerely or insincerely. This belief was ingrained in his upbringing and became deeply rooted in his subconscious. It was this unwavering self-assuredness that allowed him to confidently radiate his unique qualities throughout his adult life, undeterred by the judgments that often break others.