June: The day of emotional breakdown (part-1)

"No matter how hard you hold yourself together, someday the weight breaks you open—and that’s human."

Since summer vacations, most of my days were spent in isolation, as if I were trapped in another round of Covid. To break the monotony, I decided to get myself a new haircut and also meet one of my cousins who lived nearby. Honestly, meeting her wasn’t in my plans, because of her judgmental nature that could enhance my flaws under the microscope. But a few days ago, her husband ran into us, and not meeting her now would have seemed rude. So I decided to visit her along with my cousins.

For the past few days, I had been having very depressing thoughts as my skin had been showing no signs of improvement. So I thought maybe cutting my hair into side bangs would distract me from my melancholy days and could lift my mood.

That morning, I got ready for the occasion, as I wanted to look good to feel good. I wore a peach-colored Lucknowi chikankari kurta that I had borrowed from my mother, pairing it with black flats. The kurta looked pretty, but at the same time made my patches even more pronounced. Still, I ignored it and brushed the thought aside. I combed my hair, religiously applied sunscreen, put a thick line of kohl on my eyelids, and dabbed on a little lip balm.

While looking at my reflection, I felt uneasy but kept pretending to smile—as they say, fake it until you make it. Our first stop was a local mall where I had booked a haircut appointment. But as we reached, I started feeling cold feet. Fear crawled through me, and I told my cousin I wasn’t ready. It was my first outing in a long time, and all I could think about was stares. People knew me here; they had seen my skin before, and their stares were burning holes in me.

I panicked and made an excuse about not trusting the hairstylist’s experience and convinced my cousin that we should leave. She was quite understanding, but I couldn’t admit the real reason to her. But that wasn’t the end. That left us to visit my cousin’s house.

Meeting relatives even when you don’t feel like it. I covered the black patches on my forehead as best as I could and forced a smile to greet her. She had also recently started a new business of handmade sarees and a parlour, so I wanted to congratulate her for that too.

The moment we hugged, she lifted my hair and screamed, “Oh my God, what happened to your skin? It was so good!”

I can still recall the shock in her eyes and voice. I’ve heard many shocking questions before, but this one was tough. I smiled and explained what had happened. She was distressed and couldn’t believe that a hair colour could damage skin like this. She kept staring at my face and saying things like how good my skin used to be, how beautiful it was. (Ironically, I had never once heard such compliments from her when my skin was actually good.)

I forced myself to keep smiling, but deep down I just wanted to run away. Her eyes kept scanning my face, as if trying to find the exact cause of the damage. I congratulated her on her business, but inside, I wanted to scream. I met her four-year-old daughter, but at that moment I felt like a four-year-old myself—someone who desperately needed a hug.

She even suggested I get a Hydra-Something facial that was new at her salon. I just said yes politely. After spending some time, we all decided to leave. She asked us to come again tomorrow, and I falsely said yes.

The truth was, I didn’t want to meet her again. I was too disappointed.

With love,

AY