June: The Unseen

Summer vacations are a time that everyone looks forward to, whether students or teachers. A time when you can finally put aside your hectic schedule to give yourself a glimpse of freedom. A time when you can learn new skills or sharpen your existing ones. A time when you can finally work on your hobbies. A time of relaxation with friends and family. A time that reflects on your face, showing the freshness of the month enjoyed.

Every summer vacation, for the past few years, I have been busy preparing for competitive examinations, so the essence of summer vacation has somewhat remained untouched by me. This year, thankfully, I didn't sign up for any exams and was fairly certain how to enjoy my time — until the skin condition held me tightly in all its arms.

Of course, I had to avoid the sun, which meant no regular hangouts, no short trips, no hiking on the nearest mountain. But the point was to protect myself from the sun, not to remain untouched by happiness and joy. Yet my skeptical mind started whispering silently in my ears that the simple pleasures of life were enemies of healing. Just like an obedient child, I believed it and hid myself in the corners of my home where even my own shadow was difficult to reach.

The only work that kept me productively busy was one of my writing projects, which had to be submitted in the first week of June. My writing somewhere became my companion, my solace in chaos, and my words started appearing on my laptop screen like a lost river finally finding its path.

Now and then, whenever someone would visit my home, I would discreetly cover my side bangs, covering the marks so that nobody could question me about the condition. I stopped going out to the market because it meant lots of familiar eyes cutting deep into my skin with a stare that was hard to ignore. I stopped dressing up for any occasion because that meant exposing my skin more deeply than ever. I stopped laughing and smiling because that meant slow healing. I stopped taking pictures because that meant exposing my gray areas more clearly.

I stopped living.
I stopped watching the sunrise.
I stopped watching sunset.
I stopped breathing the fresh air.
I stopped looking at the sky.
I stopped spending my time in nature.

I stopped the only constant in life that reminds you that change is the only constant.

My mornings would start at around 7, with my cat waking me up with her whirlwinds of chaos. That would instantly put a smile on my face, temporarily making me forget the problem that had taken away my smile. I would play with her for some time, then prepare myself for the day. Every morning after washing my face, I started applying the "lep" that was given by my father. Since it was all herbal, it never interfered with my other medicines. The only drawback was that after washing, it would leave some brick-red residues on my face. Then I would apply Skinless, layering it with Ceramic Vee and Neutrogena sunblock, reapplying it every 2 hours. In the evening, after washing my face, I would apply Melaskin gel, layering it with moisturizer again.

My father made me an ayurvedic medicine specifically for calming my nerves and brain activity. In short, it was an antidepressant medicine. Although my condition was solely due to the indigo-based hair dye, it seemed like my father could see me through the skin. Yes, I had been in a "heavy phase," though I don't remember since when, but my skin never reacted. And maybe that's why my parents never gave it a thought, even when years back I would spend my days in loneliness, because even in that desolation, my skin would be shining like a diamond.

My mother would casually check my skin many times a day, convincing me that it would get better with time. Sometimes I would cry alone in my room while seeing my old pictures and questioning myself: What did I do wrong? But I never cried in front of anyone in my family. Maybe because very early, I learned how not to expose my vulnerabilities even to my loved ones. Not because they don't love me, but because I started loving my emotions more than anything else. I learnt with time that no matter how many people are around you, or how many friends you have to share your problems with, at the end of the day it's always you who is solely responsible for your misery and happiness. And right now, my misery was so physical that nobody could ever understand that. And honestly speaking, I don't want anyone to go through this kind of pain ever.

With love,

AY