A Mark On My Face

I have a mark on my face, a rare black mark. The mark quite big, which snuggles my right cheek, No, it's not a mole, it's not a burn, it's a birthmark.

Till 7 I never knew that it was something different, that others didn't have, my very first friend in school asked me what is this shadow on your face? It felt unfamiliar because nobody ever before questioned me about it. I told her that it's my skin, just like hers.

I came back and asked my mother if this was something vile but she said it's not vile it's unique, it's you. I didn't understand her, and neither I accepted what she said. But then it became a routine, people often asked me about it, by calling it with different names.

When turned 12, I started gazing into the million pieces combined of glasses which reflected my twin, At the back of my mind, I felt that my heart frowned because of its presence. I felt people around me talked about it, disliked me for it and these thoughts started to eat me up. Looking at the beautiful and flawless skin of actresses and models I felt extremely ugly.

When turned 14, relatives told my mother that they feel sad about me and wish the mark wasn't a part of mine. I too agreed with them, I told them how they were absolutely right about its ugliness, how their judgment was perfectly defining me, my soul and my body.

Their pity hit me so hard that I started searching if there was any way I could get rid of it. And in this process of self-destruction, I found about laser surgery. I felt so happy to know that there was a way out, a way to look like others, a way to keep the burden of their sympathy aside. Immediately I showed it to my mother, she said what's the need it's a part of you, why do you want to cut down a part of you?

I answered, that it was never a part of me and I hate it. Seeing the volcano of self-hatred in me she took me to a skin doctor. Who told me that I was very young for surgery and it can only be done when I'm 18 or above. But I was happy with the thought of getting free from the mark even if it was after 4 years.

When turned 17, I was flooded with study pressure as it was 12th grade, We were all so dipped in the idea of scoring good and getting into a great college. During this time I found some amazing friends, and I was so involved in studies and friends that I forgot about my insecurities, I forgot about my flaws, I forgot about my mark.

When turned 18, on the very first day of college one of my seniors who came to introduce a college society in the class looked at me and smiled, when I met her after the lecture was over, she told me said,

"You look beautiful, I wish had a mark like yours, I find them unique, like an art". And then she left, but she left me wondering how I never saw myself as a beautiful girl or a beautiful human.

Then in my mind, I turned back the wheel of thoughts and events and found out how I was always beautiful, how I was always cherished, how I never missed something out because of it and how I was unconsciously always confident but was scared to be me.

I always knew that It was a part of me, and how it made me beautiful, unique and me.

Her comment was not the sole thing which made me feel that I'm beautiful but the journey of me being an insecure 7-year-old to confident 18 years old. I told my mother I need no surgery. And when I did she smiled with all the love in her eyes.

To pour my journey on the sheet with ink, I wrote a poem, a poem filled self-love and acceptance.

I have a mark on my face,

Looking unusual and rare.

For some, it's a problem,

Others simply don't care.

I had self-doubts

"Does this makes me less beautiful,

Less human?

I just couldn't shout it out loud.

From finding it gross and something ugly,

To hugging and flaunting it

Proudly.

I learned how it was just a mark on my skin.

People whisper to me

What's this dark thing on your face?

Now I reply with a smile,

It's God's art, given to me to embrace.

Your Scars are yours, your marks are yours, your moles are yours, they make you what you are.

And Now I accept what my mom told to 7 years old me, that the mark is me, it makes me unique and it makes me, a better me.

Photo Courtesy - Chnge ( ft. Sruhtaylor) and Pinterest