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Wednesday, April 5, 2017 // The Statement

Personal Statement: Reflection

Based on “Long Distance” by Victor Lavelle
Preface: This is an essay originally published by my

high school Prize Papers collection at the end of my senior
year. As a senior in college graduating in three weeks,
many of the same insecurities I struggled with at the time
are still with me today, which is why I decided to come
back to this piece. The essay has been slightly revised
from its initial version.
T

he longest I had gone without viewing my
reflection was three weeks when I was in high
school. I had a systematic way of avoiding

mirrors. I would wake up in the morning, look down as
I entered my bathroom, brush my teeth with my eyes on
the faucet, brush my hair with my head turned to the
side and apply copious amounts of kohl around my eye
rims, using the cheap drugstore mirrors that only show
your eyes. This was how I started my day.

I remember thinking that avoiding my reflection

wasn’t too hard. I wouldn’t use public bathrooms where
the mirrors were so big and hard to avoid, and if I really
needed to look at myself, I would try to use opaque or
grainy reflectives, such as car door windows. Looking
back, this entire practice seems bizarre, as I knew I was
a kind, passionate, loyal and intelligent 15-year-old. But I
also believed I was ugly, and this somehow marred any
good quality I possessed.

I wouldn’t always do this ritual. My parents used to

tell me I was a cute baby, and my deep black eyes would
twinkle in the sun. Not only that, but I had a pretty smile
— one that made my eyes scrunch up and my lips pull
back to reveal my entire top row of teeth.

Things went downhill when I began losing teeth. I

had dreadful teeth. Not only did I lose all my top and
bottom ones at around the same time, which ruined my
precious smile, but my adult teeth grew in uneven and
angled. My unsightly orthodontics, coupled with the
pubescent shadow on top of my upper lip and between
my eyebrows, were reasons why I lost the attention of
adults and began my lifelong battle with self-image.

Then came my “tween years.” My body stretched

vertically, my hair got oily, my cheeks sunk in, my feet
grew too fast for my balance to keep up — I thought I
looked like the South Asian version of the girl from
“The Ring.” But since everyone around me was equally
awkward, I was still looking at mirrors just fine.

It was in my sophomore year of high school that

my self-perception dropped to an all-time low. All of a
sudden, everyone left behind his or her awkward stage.
Braces were coming off as bodies were filling in. Except

for me. I stayed brace-faced, bony and undesirable.

I blamed my mirror. It showed me everything that was

wrong with my life. I came to believe that if the mirror
showed me someone beautiful, someone like the models
or actresses, my life would be better. Instead, boys didn’t
want me because of what I saw in the mirror. I mean,
how could they, with my braces and my stringy hair and
my oily skin. Out of shame, I walked with my head down
most of the time, my shoulders hunched, trying not to let
anyone, including myself, see my face.

In my delusional state, I convinced myself that after

my braces came off, I would finally be attractive enough
to look myself in the mirror. I believed that my entire
world would change — that I would go from being an
awkward, gangly teenager to a straight-toothed young
lady. So upon coming home with my newly unshackled
pearly whites, I went straight to my bathroom, turned
on the lights and faced my mirror.

But nothing happened.
I was expecting fireworks, a beautiful brunette with

tan skin and a Julia Roberts smile to stare back at me.
But my mirror did not show me that. I was basically the
same girl — the same awkward girl with lanky hair, bony
elbows and a budding hunchback. I stared at myself for
half an hour, trying to see another reflection, but I could
not.

And that’s when I realized it wasn’t the mirror — it

was me. I avoided mirrors to convince myself that I could
be happy even if I knew I didn’t like the way I looked.
However, only after looking at my reflection, really
looking at it, did I realize that this was not true. I hated

mirrors because I believed I was “unattractive” and
somehow less of a person. But I realized I was blaming
my looks for my own personal failures in life instead of
taking responsibility for them. So no matter how hard
it was, I forced myself to look at mirrors and appreciate
what I saw. I forced myself to stop avoiding my reflection
and come to terms with who I am, flaws and all. I made
myself pick my head up when I walked and look people
in the eyes so they, too, could see my face. It wasn’t easy,
but as I became more comfortable looking at myself, I
slowly started to like what I saw. I was starting to stop
hating mirrors.

* * *
Summer 2012. I was at day camp, trying to get my

group of rambunctious 6-year-olds to settle down and
do their coloring activity, when I caught Demetrius
looking at me. He was one of the few counselors I had
never spoken to, but I knew he was really popular with
the kids. He had curly hair, a tall, slender build and
hazel eyes that were pointed right at me. My palms
immediately started sweating — I knew there must have
been something on my face or something embarrassing
that I had just done. I quickly shuffled to the other side of
the table, away from his vantage point.

He stayed back after class to help me clean up and

introduced himself. We spoke for a bit, mainly about the
kids we thought were cute or the other counselors we
both knew. On his way out, he smiled at me and said,
“You have pretty eyes,” before shutting the door behind
him.

I caught my reflection in the window, ash gray and

dotted with translucent raindrops. Now when I look in
mirrors, I see a new girl staring back at me. I see a girl
who has a sincere smile and kind eyes. I see a girl who
doesn’t need physical beauty to define her, as she knows
physical beauty should not determine a person’s worth.
She walks with her head held high and makes better eye
contact with people. But she is only who I appear to be.

The girl I see, the one who stands tall and tries to make

it seem like she does not care what anyone thinks of her,
somehow formed around the reflection I used to see,
the skinny, awkward girl. Although this new reflection
may appear confident, she still has the insecurities of
the old reflection, buried inside her, that will never fully
disappear. But she’ll never stop trying to overcome her
self-doubt.

Allana Akhtar is an LSA senior and former senior news

editor for The Michigan Daily.

BY ALLANA AKHTAR, CONTRIBUTOR

statement

THE MICHIGAN DAILY | APRIL 5, 2017

ILLUSTRATION BY ERIN TOLAR