I have born at Dhaka Medical College. After getting birth, the doctor hit me to cry. To clear my vocal. My dad didn’t like that. So, to annoy him doctor kept hitting me and I kept crying. My dad couldn’t stop himself but to ask the doctor to stop. They laughed. Till now I found some people hurt me without any reason, just to enjoy.
My mom was happy to see me. Because she saw I didn’t take my father’s skin colour. My skin colour was white. As she told me that I had the brightest skin colour among all brothers and sisters (I doubt). But I couldn’t keep her happy for a long time. By 3 years I became just like my father. Quite dark skin.
In Bangladesh, people called me, black skin. But they always tried to make it sugar-coated. Like, you are black, but there is something attractive at your face, which makes people look at you, black rose etc.
I am not conscious of my skin colour. I rarely look at the mirror. So, most of the time I forget what my skin colour is. During my teenage, I noticed, all colour dresses aren’t looking good at me. I had to avoid some colours which make me look worse.
My skin colour became the most important thing in life when I had started to think to marry. But I never tried to hide my colour. I even don’t put makeup on my face (Actually I even don’t know how to put on makeup, I don’t have any). I think, my face has different shades of colours, I don’t need to put more colours on it.
After arriving in Canada, I got to know, my skin colour is brown. But one day, one of my teachers told me, you are black. I didn’t hear like that for a long time. Then I looked at him and saw he is from Latin America. His skin colour is yellowish-white and very beautiful. So, obviously, my skin is very dark in his eyes. I didn’t mind, if he thinks like that, he has the right to let me know that.
I know, not only for my skin colour but because of the way I look, many people don’t like me. Some of them can’t hide it. It’s ok not to like me. But I am what I am, and I think I am a very good person to hang out with.