My Journey to Self-Love

When I was in elementary school, I mustered up the courage to confess my feelings to my long-time crush. We were friends, so I was confident that he would reciprocate. During recess, with my sweaty hands and fumbling words, I told him that I liked him. 

“Sorry, I don’t like Indian girls,” was his response. 

That was the first time I felt ashamed about my ethnicity. 

I still remember staring at myself in the mirror after that day. The darkness of my skin, the unruliness of my hair, the crookedness of my features, I wished I could erase them and morph into someone else. I was in a never-ending struggle with my culture and identity. 

I tried being like the other girls in my elementary school. I flat-ironed my hair countless times and even used fairness creams like Fair & Lovely. I tried so hard to suppress the Indian roots, my roots, that I lost a sense of who I am. Although these temporary alterations made me look a bit more “appealing” to others, I felt like I wasn’t truly being myself. But I tried my best to ignore that feeling, because to me, being Indian equated to being ugly. 

That summer, my parents and I went to India to visit our relatives. I wasn’t looking forward to the trip at all. I thought this summer trip would ruin my “mission” to fully suppress my ethnicity that I had been working on for so long.

​Once I got off the plane, the humid air automatically made my straightened hair turn frizzy. I was already getting mosquito bites and I was also terribly homesick. I already wasn’t enjoying this trip. I also wasn’t used to being in an environment where everyone had the same dark skin complexion and frizzy hair like I did.

My attitude changed once I arrived at my grandparents’ home. My grandmother welcomed me with open arms into her home. My cousins and I spent our first day snacking on traditional pazham pori with chai while watching the rain outside. Despite my efforts to stifle my ethnicity, I now felt an odd sense of familiarity now that I was in a place where my ethnicity was all that I saw.

I finally felt like I could be myself again. 

And in the month that I spent during those monsoon-ridden days, I finally embraced the beauty of my culture. From the bright greenery to the smell of rain in the air and from my grandmother’s smile to her tight hug before I left for the airport, I found myself accepting my Indian culture rather than rejecting it like before. 

As I promised my grandmother that I’d be back again next summer, I also promised myself to change for the better. Around eight years have passed since then and I now cherish the beautiful aspects of my culture. Instead of criticizing my appearance in the mirror, I can’t help but admire my wheatish complexion and the curliness of my hair. Gone are the days of me changing myself for the sake of others–instead, I treasure what makes me different and unique.

• growth.
• lifestyle
• self-love
• travel
• wellbeing