The Ugly Girl in the Mirror

I remember standing in front of the mirror during my formulative years and trying to find my beauty.

We all go through a relatively rough period in our lives where nothing we try or do enhances the features and attributes which are God-given. Many times, my mother caught me trying to shave my eyebrows, bleach my moustache or lay my fuzzy hair on the ironing board to straighten it out. I could never look like the most popular girl in my class who was fair, blue-eyed, blond with rosy cheeks and pretty, name-brand clothes.

Grade 5. Ten years old. On the brink of puberty. And allowing the sentiment of others to influence the views I had of myself. It was a tumultuous time for me. Trying to fit in but ostracized at every attempt. The more I tried, the more it backfired. I emulated the actions of others, warped by peer pressure, hungry for acceptance, deluding myself and devaluing what I believed in most. A lot to internalize at the mere age of ten. Back then in the eighties, the word 'bullying' was non-existent. I was plaything, an easy target-- tossed around, abused and returned to its owner, damaged, unworthy, filthy and unprecious. I stood and held my ragged self and threw her back in the popular mix, only to repeat the same cycle over and over again through the course of that year. No avail, to no one's care, crying silently as  I watched as an outsider and endured as a participant.

Again, my torture was due to a crush on a boy. His name was David. The most handsome boy in my class; the best soccer player in the school. Athletic, lean, strong, with brown curls and a smile to die for. I watched him for many years from afar, not once making eye contact, but wishing he would notice me noticing him. And as I looked in the mirror, I knew I would never be that girl who would catch his eye.

"Mama, look at the ugly girl in the mirror. How can I make her pretty?" I asked one day in my mother's room, in front of the dresser.

"But you are very beautiful in my eyes," my mother would reassure me as she attacked the tangles in the mass puffball that was my hair. "Why should you care about what others think? What is most important is how YOU feel about yourself."

I looked back in the mirror and saw what others saw. Paki! Dirty chocolate! Moustache girl! I heard the taunts from kids at school and during my afterschool walk from the car windows of shouting, faceless cowards. I hung my head low on some days, and on others, I looked the other way, pretending not to hear. Self preservation. I built the walls as high as I could. But they barricaded me in at the same time.

One day, we had gym outside in the soccer field. Our class was split into two teams to play against each other. I ended up on David's team, being the last one chosen from the team captains. I was elated, excited and looking forward to showing him my moves. But alas, near the end of the game, when we were close to winning, I lost my confidence around him despite knowing the rules (and playing soccer almost everyday at home with the street kids), I inadvertently picked up the soccer ball, while it was in play, out of sheer excitement. Of course, the other team was awarded a penalty shot and scored on our goalie, causing our team to lose the game. David was extremely upset. His close friend, Charlie, who was East Indian but accepted by all because he was athletic and 'cool' berated me the whole way back to class. But I was blinded by my crush on David.

"Maybe you can show me what I did wrong and we can go over the rules again?" I innocently asked David. His face was red and his anger was brimming. Charlie whispered something in his ear and passed him the soccer ball.

"So I hear you have a crush on me?" he asked smiling. Oh my God. He knew. I shyly kicked a stone at my feet and could not meet his stare. However, he was not staring at me. He was glaring at me.

I smiled back and nodded. There was a small crowd who had surrounded us. My teacher Mr. Phillips was still rounding the rest of the students back on the field. Although I was happy to be on speaking terms with David, an inner voice was warning me about what was going to happen next. The sixth sense I had was working overtime and I suddenly became cautious. There was four guys facing me and a few girls.

"I think we should meet after school at the baseball diamond so I can beat you up," he said, his smile fading into a menacing sneer. And with that, he launched the soccer ball and whipped it at my head! Dazed, I fell back a few steps. He had hit me on the side of my face, which was now stinging. I put my hand there and felt how hot my skin had become. David and his friends laughed hysterically and walked off to line up before the doors.

Three girls and one boy named Alex stood behind me in disbelief. "Tell the teacher!" they exclaimed in unison to me. I was riveted to one spot still trying to come to grips with what had just happened. My face was still stinging but this time, and I was cognisant of the fact that the stinging was due to my tears. I walked over to Mr. Phillips and between sobs, told him what David had done. Mr. Phillips knew, over the course of time, that I was relentlessly teased but took no action to remedy my situation. He was unsympathetic and while I did not expect him to be able to stop the actions of others perpetrated against me, I longed for his support and encouragement to overcome the bullying.

"Well I hope you learned your lesson not to touch the ball while its in play. I'm tired of the whining and you really have to figure out a way to solve your own problems," he said while waving me away. I stood motionless, not comprehending what he had said. Alex grabbed my arm and moved me aside to the boulders that were near the doors. Everyone was going in for lunch. Alex, myself and the three girls remained outside.

I remember this incident like it was yesterday. It was a pivotal day in my life because it made me question what my parents had taught me. Do unto those as you wish done to you. Be kind and others will be kind. What goes around comes around. No matter how hard I tried to be nice, and fit in, none of it translated into an positive experience I could think of. I sat on the boulder with my head in my hands, and released the cries that I had bottled up inside of me. Alex and the girls, not knowing how to handle an injured, sobbing outcast, left me and went inside. I sat on the boulder and faced the parking lot, wondering whether I should run away or throw a stone through the windsheild of Mr. Phillips car. Everyone had failed me. The few friends that I had, the system, David, Mr. Phillips .... but most of all, I had failed me. I was done. I was broken. And I caressed the broken me and told her, this was expected and crying would solve nothing. As I wiped my nose on my sleeve, smoothed the wrinkles out of my tattered dress, I turned around, astonished to see Alex and the three girls (whose names I do not remember today) facing me with worried looks.

"Hey, we just told Mr. Phillips that we didn't like how he dealt with your problem. Its so unfair. We are sorry." I looked at them suspiciously. Was this some kind of trick? I got up slowly and smiled sadly.

"Don't worry about me. I will just ignore it like everyone tells me to do," I said. Alex and the girls came over and sat down near me.

"You are a pretty good soccer player--even though you picked up the ball. But normally you play good" Alex said, trying to be nice.

"I play well...not good," I corrected him but immediately took my words back, not wanting to upset someone who was trying hard to be friendly. I sat back down and hung out with them until the bell rang. They talked about how unfair all the teasing was and that I needed to be strong and not let it get the better of me. For the first time, in a long time, I started to believe in myself. Those few kinds words stuck with me through the years and gave me the power to rid the negativity of those who didn't believe in me.

I always thought my bullies were the enemy. In retrospect, the revelation was simple.

It was never them. It was the ugly girl in the mirror.