Faith Of Fathom

This is the story of a little girl growing up with humility. She wasn't fair enough to meet beauty standards with her dark skin. She was loved and pampered, softened and cared for. She was only two years old when she was placed in a community school. Like seeds in a flower shop, they grew through pretty petals. She was depicted as an unpleasant feature through flowery garlands.

It seems unfair, but in every fairy tale she was a monstrous character with long hair, big eyes, a black dress and an undertone. Here he meets the class just with the flowers in bloom in the garden. Each of them was beautiful and beautifully fantasized.

She was given nicknames before identifying her name; you African, tawny, dark and dim.

Every birthday, with the candles she blew out, she wished to be so beautiful that they could call her beautiful, but she never knew the definition. She had a magical smile, rabbit teeth, big eyes with long eyelashes and a beard that marked her beauty. She was so afraid to even read loud chapters of racism.

Martin Luther King's adoption of nonviolent resistance to achieve equal rights for black Americans, however, did not change educational stereotypes.

Even her classmates attacked her and expressed criticism: “You look like an Ethiopian. Don't you belong to the community?"

She was raised in an environment where beauty meant being fair, thin and tall. She had high school ID responsibilities.

She used to cry at home after school only because her friend was bullying her. There were so many complaints from my parents but it did not bring justice within me. Even the teachers couldn't hear me scream out loud.

I wasn't too fond of perceptions. How could I laugh at jokes about my own spirit of pride? How could you do this to me? I cried so loudly that my heart reached my mouth, but it did not turn out to be my identification.

People around me kept suggesting me applications for cosmetics and creams, but that was not fair enough to build my personality. He's still like a kid who fights, but jumping up to 19 very early on doesn't change anything.

I get compliments. It suits you terribly; your eyes are like bright pearls big enough to see a single world, but that doesn't bring the whole world down to me.

Your perception of me has changed a bit, like aging well, but how can I forget your fun and attacks?

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. Not only did I study at the same school for 13 years; I grew up there. The teachers had to recognize my abilities and handicap when they achieved academic education. I am sure if they read my article they will have a confusing dilemma. Can Kajol write articles? Who needed help memorizing essay and paragraph formats?

Yes, sir, Life offered me a little more.

I went to a high school where I didn't want any of my high school classmates to bother with my nicknames. I smiled as I stood behind the desk and introduced myself. By the time my mentor changed, no one was laughing at me. Surprisingly, no one commented on my appearance. No one disturbed my day by calling me a black woman and a brownie.

I went back to my desk and wrote it twice and thrice. I even loved the presentations and I just found out that my introduction was phenomenal. I spoke on TV. I spoke in front of everyone. I spoke for myself and my heart did not tremble. This time my head didn't bow. I pouted my red lipstick; instead of a decent outfit, I smacked myself confidently.

My hair was falling out like in a magic movie where you punished me just because my baby hair was falling in my face and my skirt wasn't long enough to hide my skin. Just because I didn't style my hair by putting ribbons on it, what difference does it make? Just because I was ordinary, you laughed quickly and loudly in front of the class, which knocked my confidence, but I met with miracles. I was never introduced to accounting in high school, but I never felt like a beginner. The teachers were so soft that they didn't even scratch my consciousness. They didn't pull the lame joke on me just because I didn't know the formats and formulas. I was heard before I spoke, school taught me the definition of self-esteem, high school added tastes, and I met friends who loved my shades. I adored my freedom and meeting a new me.

The flowers in the graveyard have bloomed, sir, and so have I.