I am of the Indian race, and I’d always been rightfully proud of it, as my parents had raised me to be. But some people will take advantage of differences in order to make a joke, one that they, in their mind, structure to be funny, but is actually extremely hurtful.

In seventh grade, I was naive, gullible and socially awkward. I didn’t understand social expectations, so I stumbled around at school, trusting the wrong people, wanting to be accepted. My parents were painfully oblivious to the stress I was going through. They encouraged me to continue wearing what I was wearing, and acting the way I was acting. I listened to them, because I had just around one friend whom I spoke to, and she wasn’t one who was easily moved to care about social pressures.

One day, in the locker room, as I changed into my ugly gym clothes, I heard a girl talking. I will call her Kyla. She was a tall, imposing African-American girl, and everyone tended to listen when she spoke. Today, she was going on about how “ugly” Indians were. Now, Kyla did this in a very humorous manner, and her friends actually consisted of a few Indian girls in the locker room. They all found this statement hilarious, though I didn’t see what was so amusing about it.

Then, she lowered her voice. “And you know who the ugliest one is?”

I could feel their stares on my back.

One of the others said, while laughing, “that’s so mean!”

My face was red and I was shaking. I didn’t want to believe they were talking about me, but it was the only explanation for the sudden, awkward silence in that locker room.

Keeping my head down, I stuffed my clothes into my locker and walked out of the locker room. That moment-- it had been the most embarrassing moment I’d experienced that year.

I felt horrible. My mom had always told me I was pretty. That she wasn’t only saying that because she was my mom. My mom genuinely thought I was a beautiful person. And I believed her. I was confident in my appearance; I had always thought I was a nice-looking person.

All of that was erased from my mind after that day. I felt ugly, gross, uncomfortable in my own skin. I started to doubt my mom. What was “beautiful” anyway? Was it the perfectly made up faces of the more popular girls at school? Is that why I didn’t fit in?

Because I was ugly?

That day forever changed me. I gradually became painfully shy and uncomfortable. I no longer had confidence in my appearance, or my body, or even the way I walked.

Today, I am a sophomore in high school. I believe I’m pretty. I’ve changed a lot since seventh grade, but that’s not why I’m more confident in my appearance. I’ve made friends. Real friends, who I can trust, and who tell me I’m beautiful. And I believe them.

I’ve been doing better, but at inopportune times, Kyla’s words come into my head. I cringe and try to forget them but it’s impossible.

That cruel word, “ugliest”, well… that’ll always be imprinted in my head.