I was the girl with the boy-cut for a hairstyle because my mother could never find any hairstyle to suit my huge forehead. I used to have rabbit teeth as well. I did get braces for that. I was skinny to the bones with huge eyes on my small face.
I used to watch girls play with dolls, who would find playing with the dirt gross but I could never be one of them. To be honest, dolls frightened me with those huge unmoving eyes and that smile on that plastic face. I could never sleep in a room with a doll; I always had a feeling it was staring at me from the darkness. I didn’t like dresses either. I was the girl in shorts and a t-shirt. I was the only sister to my big brother then and we got along well. I got along with all my guy cousins, actually. I used to play video games and football with them and occasionally cricket. I loved cars.
Nobody told me I was pretty because I wasn’t but did that mean they weren’t supposed to tell me that?
My brother though a year older was praised for his looks because when he was little he was a cute kid but with the years he grew to be handsome. His looks always over-shadowed me. Well, they did until two three years ago.
A late bloomer? I don’t know but from being that ‘ugly’ little girl I became the pretty girl and from there people even called me ‘beautiful.’ My teeth have been fixed and I’ve been told I have a lovely smile. I get two dimples every time I smile. My forehead though big, isn’t a problem anymore. I have long midnight black hair and huge hazel eyes. Where I live, colored eyes are rare so they’re my best feature. They don’t always remain hazel though; they change color, from yellow to brown and from green to even grey. I have thick long lashes that reach up to my eyebrows. I’m not skinny anymore but the good kind of slim and I am also tall. Unlike my siblings who have a tan skin tone, I am blessed with a lighter skin tone. I don’t really need make up. I also have naturally rosy cheeks.
Everywhere I go, people compliment me. My brother’s female friends tell him how pretty his little sister is. I’m told I’m intelligent and a very good person.
But why is it so hard to believe that?
I don’t know why but those compliments, those praises, those words of appreciation; they all seem to me as lies. Every time I look in the mirror, why can’t I see the pretty girl everyone else seems to be looking at? Why is it every time I look, I find the faults in my appearances? Why do I reject the love I so need?
I can see the dark circles under my eyes from the sleepless nights because the nightmares are too much. The way my lips twitch from keeping them in a smile too long by force. The shaking of my hand because I’m always tired. The way my face and lips go pale because I can’t eat due to the nauseous feeling in the pit of my stomach. The way my voice shakes when I’m trying to hold back tears. You can’t see that, can you? Because I’m the pretty girl with a perfect life, that’s what you see, right?
…For me, I’m still the girl with the boy-cut hair, a bony figure with a huge forehead and the girl with the rabbit teeth. The girl whose identity was known as her brother’s little sister. The girl who wasn’t girly enough, who wasn’t pretty enough and who was nowhere close to being good enough.
For me, I’m the 17 year old girl with a broken home, with friends lost and broken dreams. I’m the who is trying to keep it together though she’s breaking into pieces.
I’m the girl who just wanted to be called pretty when I was little, only once?