Then and now

I think the worst part about getting older and going through puberty was when I would look in the mirror and think to myself, "That hair must've fallen on me," and then trying to pick it off and realizing that that point is where it was growing from.

I wanted to be perfect for so long, starting in middle school. I'd just been dumped in an unfamiliar place with gorgeous long-haired Asians and Filipinos left and right; how was I to compete with that? I wanted to be perfect and hairless like the people I saw in magazines. I didn't want a rabbit trail of hair leading from the top of my chest down to my genitals, it made me feel so embarrassed of my body. I stopped wearing tank tops and started to cover myself up as much as possible, not wanting anyone to see or judge my body.

I can distinctly remember crying one day to my mother. "Can I talk to you?" I asked, closing her door behind me and staring at the ground. I told her about the hair and how I felt so ugly. I needed a "you're beautiful the way you are," but instead I got "come on, Axanti, there are kids in the world dying of cancer."

I have to say, the second one stuck with me more. At some point in my life, I decided not to pluck my eyebrows, that my face is beautiful enough after I wash and moisturize, and that I'm not an android. I'm a human being with natural hair, a beautiful and discolored caramel face, little tiny black hairs, and unkempt, uneven eyebrows. I've come to love myself and all my imperfections, thanks to my partner in life and strong support system, my dear boyfriend. I hope that for you reading this, 14 or 40, learn to love yourself as I have, it makes life so much more enjoyable.