One Thursday afternoon.

Love arrived.

Love looked even better than I thought he would.

Even though love has waited for me time and again.

He still said he can wait more.

Love held my hand.

Love called me beautiful even when my tired eyes looked at him in disbelief.

Love listened.

Love spoke the difficult truth.

I tried to touch love.

Love felt warm.

But also distant. Like love hadn’t found the answer yet or maybe he meant to say more.

I wish I told love that I’d wait for him too.

That he could stay as long as he wanted to.

But if he wanted to leave, the door behind him would still be open.

And if he’d choose to stay, I’d do everything to make him comfortable.

I’ll open the windows.

I’ll let the sunshine in.

I’ll put away old sheets

And spread new ones.

As long as love decides to love me too.

Advertisements

Adult acne

I’ve felt ugly many times.

When in 4th grade, my class teacher wouldn’t let me audition for the role of the queen.

In sixth grade, when my mom and aunt together agreed that maybe I should try looking like my cousin.

When relatives told the 12 year old me that I really need to lose weight.

That one time when the boy I really liked said I should start wearing makeup before it’s too late.

When the beauty parlour ladies who almost always cringed before giving me a haircut

said I’ll have to use fair&lovely and also conditioner made of soapnut.

I felt ugly. But I’d shrug it off. I’d tell myself that probably they are petty and I’ve got better things to do than just look pretty.

Until a new hater came in.

This one decided that the ugliest thing she’d seen was acne.

She was the cruelest of them all.

She forced me to wear makeup.

Those ugly blotches had to be covered up.

The thought of her frown gave me chills

I then resorted to taking birth control pills.

Meat and dairy were off my table.

My estrogen levels had to be made stable.

And now when in twelfth grade, my teacher would praise my courage and perseverance.

When in college, my mom and my aunt said the best thing about me was my wisdom and confidence.

When relatives said I’d made them proud.

When my barber said my strong jawline makes me stand out of the crowd.

Even when the same guy now said that I was the funniest person he knew.

My bully wouldn’t let me believe them and she’d quickly reply as if on cue.

When I’d look in the mirror she wouldn’t smile at me.

“Hey” , she said, “that’s great and all. But those zits haven’t left you. You continue to be ugly afterall.”

She was the cruelest of them all.

No points for guessing, my bully was me.

Like an eagle that drops her prey from high above, I let my self esteem fall.

I wasn’t concerned anymore about courage, wit or wisdom.

My face became my new found obsession.

I wasn’t the same girl brave, bold and carefree.

The only thing that could cheer me now was a flawless selfie.

Until one day, I asked myself to stop.

Beauty had to be more than clear skin. If I wanted to love me, I’d have to choose it all.

I was always more than a pretty face.

Bones Blood Muscles Tears Sweat and even acne.

I dared myself to love it all.

A little about me.

Hi! My name is Risha.

Even though I pride myself for being unapologetically and sometimes deliberately stupid, I often find myself thinking really hard and trying to look at the world through my rebellious lens to find meaning in my otherwise mundane life of studying, chores and work. All of which I find meaningful yet not fulfilling.

All of my reflective thoughts have always ended up in my journal where I hid them and treasured them. I’ve always longed to share a little bit of myself through my writing and I think a great way to do that would be to share a little bit of my writing.

I intend to write regularly and to write like a motherfucker. Some of my posts will be offensive, some may be straight up ridiculous and some may speak directly to you. But all of them are deeply personal and insanely honest. If any of my posts manage to reach you, make you laugh, cry or hug you through your phone; I’d consider this a job well done.