Nurul and her fuzzy facial hairs.

When I was a kid, I was quite a sturdy one mentally. I experienced isolation and abuses (crazy sibling fights that had me sleeping in the ironing room for years, for example. Nothing police-worthy.). 

I didn't feel anything. I didn't cry out of self-pity. I performed really well at school. I've had extraordinary confidence in public. You can say those childhood incidents didn't affect me at all. 

But. 

There is ONE thing I remember from when I was 12. And however minor this might be to you (and me), I can never fully accept this part of my physical self until now. 

My teacher walked up to me during break, as I was reading things off the info board at school, and said: " eh ehhh ada misai lah!" (Oh look you got a lady stache!)

In a world of blindingly fair-skinned models and blue contact lenses, I LOVE my dark/colored skin to bits. I love my dark brown eyes. I still walk with confidence. But I would always have this in my closet: