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Acne's problems not lifelong
Two Faces of Future Stares from the right. Stares from the left. By the end of my junior year in high school, I was getting use to the oblivious glares. At times I would run out of words when people started commenting on the uncontrollable red bumps on my face. Hateful words like, "We need to get that girl some Clearasil" and "Do you know you have a problem" echoed in my ears. Some thought that I had poor hygiene, and others simply advised me to see a dermatologist. For the past years, I periodically visited my skin doctor for the severe acne problem that haunted my teenage years.
I had tried many of the prescription drugs available and nothing seemed to work. At times I would blame my parents for the horrible genes they passed onto me, and now I had to face a critical society. Other times, my silly superstitious beliefs led me to think that I had committed a great crime in my past life to have to face these red creatures. Unfortunately, at this point of my life, I became incapable of talking to any persons while looking them in their eyes. Even while walking, I would keep my head down in order to avoid the questions.
My self-esteem and confidence levels became unreasonably low, and even though my family and friends told me that beauty comes from within, I was indifferent about their helpful suggestions. It wasn't words or advice that finally changed my perspective, but an event that made me think outside of my own world.
It was the senior year of one of my classmates, and as I looked into her eyes, I could see her dreams crashing right in front of her. The young, intelligent girl, who planned to go to Duke, was now on her way to giving birth to another life. All I wanted to do was tell her, "It will be alright." But she knew in her mind that nothing would be the same. Her life would take a different turn, and her money for tuition would now buy the baby's diapers. In some odd sense, I felt as if I empathized with her, but in reality I wasn't even close to feeling her emotional extremity.
She zoomed out many a times and tears rolled down her cheeks with no emotions. In a few weeks, she knew that she would not be able to hide the life that grew within her. The dress she had selected to wear at her senior prom would not fit her anymore. Her graduation day would lead her to another path, not only in pursuing her education but also caring for the child on the way. I questioned myself, "Could she raise her child as well as reach her ambition of becoming a doctor?" I did not know. My pimple dilemma didn't even come close to the inescapable condition that the girl had to face.
Her one mistake would deprive her of the future that she once had in mind. It was then that I realized that the zits on my face were temporary, and would eventually fade away as I neared the end of my adolescent years. Moreover, her pregnancy could not be covered up with some powder that I used to minimize the display of my dry, irritated bumps.
My fellow classmate's situation taught me more than any other story's moral. Her strength through the rough times inspired me to face the scrutiny that made me paranoid. If she was capable of holding on in such a delicate situation, I could too. The acne that surrounded my face stopped bothering me; I realized that I don't have to look a certain way to feel good about myself. The analogy between my situation and hers were incomparable because my future looked brighter than ever, and hers was ambiguous; uncertain of what laid ahead.
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