The Perfect Stranger: Unbeauty

19:25 p.m., Wednesday, 3 June 2015
Turffontein, Johannesburg
(From the diary of Abiola Madi)

I've been in this physical form for 33 years of my existence, and I'm still searching for it. I've looked just about everywhere -- even under my eye bags, but it's just not there, or anywhere else. I might notice something that hints at a small possibility every now and then that I have it, but for the most part, I've accepted that I'm far plainer than Jane; my looks are as average as they come. Quite honestly, I don't think I'm that bad, but based on today's standards of beauty, clearly I'm a lost cause.

It's frustrating because everyone treats beauty as though it's a rite of passage for women -- a prerequisite for acceptance from the world and for validation from the male species; that without it, you're reduced to nothing. All of us can think of an instance when someone was treated advantageously because of their perceived good looks -- and it happens all the time in court as well: Goodlooking suspects usually gain more sympathy and empathy from the court than their unattractive counterparts. I guess people figure ugly people have it a lot easier in jail. And that's the way it is in the normal world, too. Call it stupidity if you will, but it's a universal law we all unconsciously seem to agree to.

An aunt once told me if I was at least three shades lighter, I might've stood a good chance at being pretty, and she's done her best to 'help' by buying me bottles and tubs of various skin lightening creams and washes. But I never use them. There's tons of this stuff tucked away in my wardrobe. Come to think of it, I might actually get away with selling them on the black-market, that's if I never succumb to the social pressure of bleaching; but I'm quite used to being the black sheep of the family anyway, so to speak, so I doubt that would happen. My dear aunt even suggested that I marry a  lightskinned black, or even white man in order to save my kids from the burden of being born dark. Yes; it's quite sad that well into the 21st century, mindsets like these haven't changed. But I can't blame her: With constant brainwashing by the media at large about what's beautiful and what's not, it can be very hard to accept anything else.

I've come to the realisation that maybe my conventional beauty doesn't reside on my face or my skin. Or maybe it does, but I'll  probably never see it until I stop looking at it with eyes of what I hope to see instead of seeing what's really there.

If people don't feel comfortable with my skin tone or my face, they should stop looking. For the first time in my life, I can honestly say I'm learning to live in my skin; I'm at that stage where I'm gradually accepting that this is the way I'll spend the rest of my life. Saying I love it would be an exaggeration of the truth as I'm still learning to overcome the years of taunting, bullying and teasing because of it, but I'm not too far from home.

I'll get there one day.

*This is a fictional piece. Any direct resemblance to anyone is mere coincidence.