Faith of Fathom

This is a story of a little girl growing up with humility. She was not fair enough to meet the beauty standards bit with her dusky skin. She was loved and pampered, softened and cared for. She was just two years old when she was introduced to a community school. Like the seeding on floriculture, she grew over the pretty petals. Over the efflorescence garlands, she was represented as an unpleasant feature.

It seems unfair but in every fairy story, she was a monstrous character with long hair, big eyes, a black dress and an undertone. Here, she meets the classroom with just the blossoming flowers in the garden. Each of them was gorgeous and beautifully fantasizing.

Before her name identification, she was given nicknames; you African, brownie, dark and dusky.

On every birthday, with the candles she blew, she wished to be fair enough to be called beautiful but she never knew the definitions. She had a magical smile, rabbit teeth, big eyes with long lashes, and facial hair, remarking her beauty. She was so afraid even to read the loud chapters of racism.
Martin Luther King his adoption of nonviolent resistance to achieve equal rights for Black Americans but didn’t change the education stereotypes.

Even classmates used to assail her, giving a critique shattering “you look like an Ethiopian. Don’t you belong to the community?”

She was brought up in an environment where beauty meant to be fair, skinny and tall. She had obligations with her identification in her secondary school.

She used to cry back home after school just because her friend bullied her. There were so many complaints from my parents, but this didn’t provoke justice in my inner self. Even teachers didn’t hear me screaming out loud.

I was not too fond of the perceptions. How did I manage to laugh at jokes made on my own pride spirit? How could you do this to me? I cried so loud that my heart reached my mouth but this didn’t turn out to be my identification.

People around me kept on suggesting me fairness cream and beauty apps, but this wasn’t fair enough to build my personality. It still feels like a child struggling but jumping out on 19 very soon doesn’t make any difference.

I do get compliments. You look so beautiful; your eyes are just like the shining pearls big enough to see the unified world, but that doesn’t bring the whole world down to me.

Your perception towards me has changed a bit, like good aging but how can I forget your entertainment and assaults?

As an average student, I never had the confidence to raise my hands to generate my questions. There was a big reason behind my back. I was not only studying at the same school for 13 years; I was growing up there. Teachers must have acknowledged my ability and disability while achieving academics. I’m sure they’ll have a perplexing dilemma if they read my article. Can Kajol write articles? Who needed help remembering the formats of essays and paragraphs?

Yes, sir, Life offered me a little more.

I went to high school, where I didn’t want any of my secondary classmates bothering with my nicknames. I gave a big smile standing behind my desk and giving my introduction. No one laughed at me at the time that my mentor changed. Surprisingly, nobody made comments on my appearance. Nobody pissed off my day by calling me blackie and brownie.

I headed back to my desk and wrote it twice and thrice. I even loved the presentations and just found out my introduction was phenomenal. I spoke on television. I spoke in front of everybody. I spoke for myself and my heart didn’t shiver. This time my head didn’t bow. I pouted at the red lipstick; instead of putting on a decent outfit, I cuddled myself confidently.

My hair was falling like a magical cinematic where you used to punish me just because my baby hair was falling on my face and my skirt wasn’t too long to hide my skin. Just because I didn’t tidy my hair by putting on the ribbons, what makes it a slight difference? Just because I was ordinary, you made a peal of quick, loud laughter in front of the classroom that bowed my self-confidence but I met the miracles. I was never introduced to accountancy in secondary, but I never felt like a beginner. Teachers were so soft that they didn’t even scratch my consciousness. They didn’t drag me with the lame joke on me just because I didn’t know the formats and formula. I was heard before I spoke schooling taught me the definitions of self regards high school added the flavors, and I met friends who loved my shades. I adored my freedom feature I was meeting the new me.
The flowers on the graveyard bloomed, sir, and so did I.