Fatma
I’m too scared to break out of my friend group like I planned to last week—there’s always college! So I’m still stuck with these people and I’ve started to be more observant. This girl who I hang out with attracts boys to her like honey does bees. My skin resembles cinnamon and my hair is a puffy frizz ball, at times; her hair is loosely curled and her complexion fair. I thought I didn’t care but I guess I do. It’s really painful when your friend is prettier than you. I like to be independent, but it would be a huge boost to my confidence boost if I could turn down a dating offer. I feel really confused as to why nobody likes me but I’m also stuck, because it’s not as if I really want anyone to like me. Well, maybe I do—preferably someone with curtains who looks like Shawn Hunter from the TV show Boy Meets World, but I would never want my dad to know that. Actually, I wouldn’t want anyone to know that.
All I look forward to is coming home from school. I listen to the Daydream album, one of my favourite CDs that I found at the thrift store. Mariah Carey’s voice blares out of the speakers. I look out of my bedroom window and up at the sky. It’s the perfect turquoise blue, just after the sun has set. It looks like water, but I soon realize that I’m crying, again. I’m always crying. I wish I could leave this realm—all it consists of is being picked on by my teachers when I don’t know the answer or listening to people make fun of Frida Kahlo for having thick eyebrows. Things are changing: My 14th birthday is close, the sky is starting to look different. Maybe there is some hope for me in this world.
My tears are probably just blurring my vision again. ♦