There is a whole bowl of scorched rice right there. Right on my face. The tiny bumps that you just want to pop, a pimple is a name, make me want to hide. I don’t have to tell my wish for Christmas and Santa already knew. Just give me clear skin. Why can’t I have that skin? The skin Lily has. 

I used Covid as my reason to wear a mask to school every day as if it was a masquerade ball. Even when the pandemic was already over, I still do. I couldn’t talk to boys confidently and would always turn my head in a different direction like the wind blowing but not look into their eyes. I dreamed of having silky skin with no blemishes at all on my face. Like a smooth piece of fabric, beautiful that everyone wants to wear.

I admire girls who have clear skin to wear makeup. To make themselves look pleasurable in others’ eyes and to be a magnet that attracts everyone to them. I use my bangs as curtains to cover this ugly picture up, the picture of so many scratches and unpleasant strokes of paint. I feel ashamed whenever my friends raise the question, “Why do you have so much acne?”

Someone give me something to cover up. I’m too embarrassed to look at myself in the mirror. I think even the mirror doesn’t want someone as ugly as me to be reflected in it. My Mom said acne will come and go as it is a part of puberty and everyone goes through these hard times. But I don’t want this embarrassment to ruin my teenage years. I want to experience my youth with confidence and turn this ugly picture into one that shines like the sun and pretty like the moon.

Then that day comes. The day I experienced something new my family decided to bring me to the magician of skin, we called her dermatologist. She checked my skin and gave me my first prescription. We had a facial treatment after which skilled workers rescued my skin. When an hour and a half ended, my skin was clean and cleared of tiny bumps that you just want to pop, pimple is the name. The treatment was bimonthly. I visited the dermatologist and got the treatment consistently. All I had to do was to trust the progress and everything finally turned better. The wish I made to Santa finally came true.

The Devil I Was Raised With

He turns into a devil easily and unexpectedly, the man that I call “Dad.” He possessed great powers, the power to put others in sorrow and misery. His words can make people lose themselves and ruin their temporary happiness in a split second. Nobody can control this devil because he can’t even control himself. 

My heart almost skipped a beat. I would drop whatever I’m holding or stop whatever I’m doing and hide. I wished I had the magic to disappear so that I won’t have to hear those words, just like if I was deafened. But too bad I can’t.

The cursed words and truthful sayings that he used to attack my Mom everyday made me lose my calm. I can’t support the reasons for his cause of madness because I’ve never seen anyone make such a big deal over such small matters before. My Mom didn’t pick up his twenty calls because she was so busy at work, he yelled. My Mom was too full to finish the meal, he yelled. My Mom wears a shirt that he didn’t like, he yelled. 

All of the reasons in this world belong to the long list of reasons that make him mad. Everyday and every time, every minute and second, I just want to stand up and defend my Mom but I’m such a coward myself. I’ve tried to be the support to my Mom and to show her that she always has me by her side but I know I will end up bursting out in tears and that she will have to be the one that comforts me again.