My new meds make my skin throw a fit. Itâs not terribly bad, just a few things here and there, but itâs bumming me out because Iâve never really had too many run-ins with acne.
My four-year-old sister, however, is under the impression that itâs just â3D frecklesâ, and that they look very, very pretty. She wants all of my freckles to âpop outâ, especially the ones across my nose; theyâre her favourite.
And it puts me in this weird position where I canât say, âNo, this is acne, and itâs bad,â because I donât want to teach her that itâs a bad to have unclear skin, you know?
Because the more I think about interactions I have with children, the more I realise that children will consistently compliment âflawsâ until theyâve been taught not to.
Like, a kid at the library, whose sister has vitiligo, saw my scars once and suggested that his sister and I should be cats for Halloween, since I have âtabby skinâ and she has âcalico skinâ. âI can be a black cat,â he immediately added. âItâs not AS cool, but theyâre the spookiest.â
When I started losing weight, my little brother immediately demanded that I gain it back, because I wasnât as comfortable to cuddle with anymore.
And my other little sister always wants to wear her paint-stained clothes to school so that âeveryone can tell [sheâs] an artistâ.
I donât know. I guess talking to little kids just reminds me that all of this superficial shit we worry about really is 100% made up.
