Chapter 3

The accumulated heartache and grievance overflowed.

I wildly wiped at my tears with my hands, but they only came faster.

This sight made the relatives panic a bit. They laughed awkwardly:

"Oh, our ugly child isn't ugly at all. She's beautiful."

"Don't cry now. Everyone stop talking, okay?"

They coaxed me like a child.

Exchanging knowing glances with mockery in their eyes, clearly watching a show.

Mom got impatient.

She clicked her tongue:

"Why are you crying? What do you have to feel wronged about?"

"Making a scene during New Year's—who are you trying to show? Isn't this embarrassing?"

"Why... why do you always call me ugly... why do you call me ugly child..."

I sobbed, unable to think straight.

I just wanted to vent all these years of pain.

My mom was stunned for a moment, then laughed.

"Aren't you ugly? You're this old and still don't know yourself? Want me to get your sister to bring a mirror so you two can stand together and compare?"

She couldn't hold back her laughter and kept stabbing at my heart.

"But really, you won't hold a grudge against us for just telling the truth, will you?"

"We're helping you have self-awareness. Your taste is terrible too—look at what you're wearing today. It makes you look fat and ugly."

"Ugly people shouldn't make a fuss. Won't people laugh at you when you go out?"

My breath caught.

My chest hurt like it was blocked.

I could only squeeze a few words from my throat:

"Yes. I hate you."

I hate your casual criticism and put-downs.

Since childhood, Mom and Dad treated my sister like a princess.

If my sister just walked two steps, Mom and Dad would have praise:

"Our Maya holds her back so straight. She's as beautiful as a swan."

But me—just sitting there, I had to endure Mom and Dad's sharp, judgmental gazes:

"Look at that. Sitting all crooked. Combined with her wretched appearance, she's even uglier."

Since childhood, the word "ugly" had deeply shrouded me.

During puberty, my sister blossomed into a graceful beauty, the acknowledged campus goddess.

By comparison, my face broke out in acne and was constantly oily.

When Mom and Dad saw my face, their disgust was written all over:

"Oh my god, how did ugly child's face turn out like this? So gross. What are we going to do if she keeps getting uglier?"

"Ugly child, get some bangs to cover that big forehead of yours."

"Just wear your school uniform from now on. The uniform looks better on you."

After hearing Mom and Dad's words for so long.

I became hunched over, always looking down wherever I went, always wearing a mask.

I just wanted to hide my face.

My puberty years, spent in enormous appearance anxiety, became my most painful period.

Those supposedly beautiful school memories—I had none of them.

I was like a mouse, avoiding people's gazes.

I felt like everyone was talking about my appearance.

Like Mom and Dad, laughing that I was ugly child.

Later, when I went to college and got away from my parents, my personality became slightly more outgoing.

New friends I made pushed aside my thick bangs and removed my mask.

"Where are you ugly? You look fine. You just look a bit tired. Put on some makeup and you'll be good."

Encouraged, I gathered my courage.

I abandoned the bangs my parents made me keep and started learning makeup.

But when I dressed up carefully, I always felt people were watching me.

The giggling, well-dressed girls in the cafeteria made me wonder if they were laughing at my ugly face, at my over-the-top makeup.

That meal felt like torture.

That's when I suddenly realized.

My insecurity had already seeped into my bones.

I instinctively opened my phone, wanting to delete the edited photo I'd just posted on Snapchat.

But I discovered I'd forgotten to block my parents.

I couldn't see my friends' compliments. I only saw my sister laughing:

[Ugly child, that kind of makeup doesn't suit you at all. How dare you show off like this? Aren't you afraid people will laugh at you?]

Mom was scolding: [You're living quite the fancy life. Using too much makeup is making your skin worse and your ugly face even uglier.]

Later, I threw away my pretty clothes.

I obediently put my bangs back down.

When I went home, I still couldn't escape Mom's mockery:

"Oh, why aren't you wearing those slutty dresses today? Finally realized it's embarrassing?"

My sister laughed too, seeming to give me sincere advice:

"Ugly child, you have too much fat. You need to lose weight before wearing those dresses."

"But honestly, clothes are picky about faces. Some faces just can't pull them off. Better just give up."