How Spending As Much Time

As the years went by, I grew very insecure about my looks and the way I would be perceived. I was born without any cartilage in my left ear, I had no cartilage on the tip of my ear, so the tip of my ear would just hang. For many years, I resented it. I didn't like the way it looked and it was unnecessary to have. To my family, it was insignificant, they thought it was something I could just live with it. But to me it was a burden I had to carry. It caused me to act differently than other girls. While they could put their hair up in many ways, I could only put my hair a certain way that made me comfortable.

It may be hard to believe, but I wasn’t always this bald and beautiful. I, like many other young men, was a victim of a vicious receding hairline. Me being so young, I fell victim to a plethora of cruel jokes, I mean let’s face it, not many sixteen-year-old girls swoon over a young boy with the hairline like their fathers. I was constantly ragged on by family, friends, strangers, and anyone else with a working pair of eyes. Thus, I grew to be very self-conscious about my hairline, or lack thereof. Then that all changed one day with a mirror and a razor. Looking back at it, I can’t help but laugh and smile when I think about the days when all I wanted was a full head of hair.

“Darling, you look absolutely stunning in that gown- when I walked in, my eyes were immediately drawn to you. I am sorry that I had to leave you so suddenly, but I dared not risk losing the cargo I had aboard; and not by any means am saying that it was more important than you-”

I couldn’t move the right side of my face. My smile was crooked, and my self-esteem was destroyed. No one ever said anything to my face, but I knew what I looked like. I had never been focused on my appearance before, but now it was a priority. I went to plastic surgeons and dentists and specialists of all kinds to fix my deformed face. I massaged scar removal oil into my scar every night for forty-five minutes for two years, and no matter how much better it got or how many people said they couldn’t tell anymore, it was still my deepest insecurity. I wouldn’t smile in pictures or laugh in public. I didn’t have the nerve to approach new people or even familiar ones. My confidence was nonexistent, and I was a

“I’ve noticed.” He looks at me sideways for a split second as if he thought I would take offence. As if I could feel anything anymore, as if I would take offence. And that slight acknowledgement of my feelings made me want to feel something other is this cold foreign nothingness that I seemed to drown in day in and day out. The acknowledgment was so small he probably didn’t even notice himself doing it. It was probably subconscious, or something he was used to doing for others and then realized that I wasn’t worth his time or care. I stopped wanting to feel anything once

The reconstructive plastic surgery would start with a week’s stay at a major medical university hospital, where I was a case study, due to my unique condition. After the first and most extensive operation, I awoke to see Dr. Leigh and eight resident doctors surrounding my bed. I felt like I was in a movie scene, it looked so cliché to me. I smiled at the gallery with this notion in my mind, and a silent laugh at how funny the moment seemed to me. The attending, nervous, young doctors smiled back, in part because they seemed to want to be polite,

My brow furrowed and I tilted my head, sure I had misheard him. None of this made any sense—the apologies, the guilt I could feel emanating from him. There was a part of me that would have loved to have believed that he had truly changed for the better. That he was repentant—at least a little—for his past actions. But this was all too perfect—too good to not be an act. That had to be what this was—some kind of facade that he was putting on with the expectation of … what? Getting me to go along with some plan? Getting me to do some kind of work for him and Ryan? I had no idea, I just knew that I still couldn’t even find my voice to even ask.

“I'm going down whether you want me to or not. You may be my king, but you do not own me,” you said. You saw a flicker of amusement behind his silver eyes and regretted your last statement. Regardless of what you mouth seemed to think, you did belong to him in some way. “I will return shortly after speaking with the dwarf,” you said, eyeing him before turning on your heel. A sharp glint of jealousy flashed behind his eyes.

Yet I promised myself I would never look at you again. Or that I would avoid it as much as possible. It hurt every time I did, turning around and realizing I had disappointed you.

Following an 8 hour anesthesia-induced slumber, I awoke to blinding lights and inaudible conversation from surgeons. Akin to the seasonal migration of birds, high school students use their Spring Break to tour prospective colleges. Due to an appointment with Johns Hopkins Department of Plastic Surgery, I was unable to join the flock. Meticulous surgeons were tasked with removing soft tissue from my right thigh, and placing it into my left cheek to add symmetry.

Whenever I reunite with childhood friends, I am always told that my hair was the most memorable part of me. This was hair that was yanked left and right, along with my head, forcibly being led by my Asian grandmother who commanded the brush to tear apart each and every knot. These were mornings where Yiey bathed me and frustratingly mumbled in her native language with each brush stroke. I’d grimace and grow teary-eyed as she mercilessly mauled through random sections of my hair in attempt to swiftly tie it into a ponytail. It was routine for Yiey to prepare me for school every morning, minutes before it was time for me to leave for school.

Think of this, you have just got home from school and you immediately stop thinking about the things around you and you become tempted to go watch t.v. You feel like only 5 minutes has go by but it has been 2 hours. You just have realized you lost track of time. It is almost past your bedtime but your show ends in an hour so stay you up for the shows ending. This is a reason everyone should limit screen time.

He stopped mid step to look at me, Jeanette introduced us. He then asked me, “what is that on your arm?” I was confused by what he was talking about. Then he said “You only have one eyebrow”, as he walked away laughing. I was so embarrassed while my friend stood there and looked at me. She tried to apologize, but that didn’t stop the tears from running down my cheeks. Abruptly, I left running home as fast as I could and went straight to my room slamming the door behind me. My mom immediately came to console me. I could not control my emotions as I explained to her what happened. I asked her “why do I have to be so hairy?” “It’s not fair, Jeanette does not have a uni-brow!” My sorrow quickly turned into anger. My mom explained to me that I was Mexican and that I shouldn’t be ashamed of how I looked, instead I should be proud of my heritage. I was so ashamed of my looks. I didn’t want my uni-brow or hairy arms. That night my mom plucked my eyebrows so I didn’t have a uni-brow, but did not do anything about my hairy arms. The next morning as I was taking a shower I looked at my mother’s razor, I picked it up. I started debating if I should shave my arms, but was so nervous since I had never used a razor before. I took one stroke and froze in shock that I did it. I figured there is no turning back now. I shaved my entire arm, from my shoulder down to my knuckles. I chose to shave my arms because I wanted people to see me as normal.

The reaction of the people in the salon was one of shock. My hairdresser at first, looked at me and laughed as if I was joking. I then had to say, “no really, take it all off.” This is when she started to look panicked. She then began to question me, “are you sure that is what you want?” “Why don’t you give yourself some time to think about it?” I reassured her that that was what I really wanted,

I went into the bathroom. The huge mirror caught my eye, my reflection looked back at me. It has been a long time since I last saw my face. There was no such thing as vanity up there, there was no need to look at one's appearance. My face was covered in dirty, my hair was all over the place, knotted and dirty. I looked like a mad woman. How could they take me seriously?