It wasn’t until the tenth grade that I fell in love with my appearance. I was in the shower, and after analyzing my body for the 100th time, I felt okay with it. I felt okay with my body for the first time in my entire life that day. Despite my hatred for my skin color, my stomach rolls, my double chin, and my “too-big” thighs, I felt okay being me that day. Though it has certainly been an uphill journey from that fateful shower, I suppose the journey was worth it for I am more accepting of my body than ever before.
It all started in the fifth grade. I had made it my mission to talk with this boy in my class, simply because I liked him. At least, until I saw the kind of girls he talked to: pretty, athletic, and white. I was the polar opposite: chubby, unathletic, and brown. I grew ashamed of myself and my appearance because I thought I wasn’t enough. I compared myself to these ideals my entire childhood and adolescence. It continued into middle school and high school where my self hatred almost drove me to suicide. I hated the world, and soon enough it seemed that the world hated me back.
Eventually, I grew resentful not just of my body but also of my culture. I hated being Indian because it meant I wasn’t white. I wasn’t “ideal.” I pushed away my culture, my family, and my language because I believed that somehow that would make me a better person. I grew up “white-washed,” and to this day, my friends still refer to me as “the white one.” And this hurts. It hurts badly. I just want to be accepted for myself now, and not for the insecurities I faced as a kid.
I’m still not totally okay with my appearance. It’s hard to look in the mirror some days honestly. But I’m getting better at loving myself. It doesn’t feel like the world hates me anymore. Maybe that shower saved me, but maybe I saved me too.