Hello, my name is Gwendaline Rosabel. Don’t tell me, I know I have a catchy name that’s rosy, beautiful, captivating; it’s a name that runs on the lips like the savory sweet honey when pronounced, a name that’s also sweet to the undeafened ears of the lucky hearer.

However, the sight of the beholder of the name would make you wish you could pluck out the rounded organs buried within the two sockets on your face.

I should be awarded the Master of Sorrow based on the criteria of my history of trouble.

I reminisce to a moment in the past when I would sit at the back of the class. I’m the renowned backbencher of Premium Grade Ten.

The teacher would begin the name calls, I believe it is called The Attendance, but a dullard I was then and a dullard I still remain.
She would call the names with a smile on her face but would halt when she got to me, GWENDALINE ROSABEL.
She would look up from the roster and her face would suddenly distort as she sight me and my deformed face and disfigured body – Yes, I’m that ugly.

If I had been burnt as a child that would be another story. But I was BORN THIS WAY with a face that even the foulest words would be unable to justify why there ever was creation of a formless child.

I got ridiculed right from Grade Two by my mean peers, including those I secretly called friends.

My name is Gwendoline Rosabel and I seem like a mystery girl, one who exudes pleasure and an unimaginable flight of fantasy and creativity.

Before I’m met, they believe they know me; after they meet me, they wish they never knew me.

I’ve lived in a planet of disappointment, lost for years with no feedback to my drowned echos for help.

Ha! Even my father didn’t believe I was his, how pathetic can this get? Well, he asked for a paternity test.

Mom asked herself if it was possible God could have made a mistake when delivering bundles of Joy on every fateful day.

There I was staring at my folks and even as a baby I knew and know that God doesn’t make mistakes.
I cried on and on but no one cared at all.
They pondered and wondered if I’d make it into the Guiness Book of Records as the world’s ugliest daughter.

I am Gwendaline and have mastered the art of misery. Feeling sorry for myself is my profession, ring me up when you have a better option.

I tried being amongst the STARS. An act was made by my drama class and I thought I’d be opportuned to be the star of the show.

I was the star indeed, the role of the beast was given to me, it’s a character you all know; someday I hope to be the beauty you all love.

Let me introduce myself, I am the girl with no happy tale to tell but I shall create my very own ever after of pure love and happiness.

As I lay on this surgical bed, I remember a moment in history when my parents left me with the grandma I had never known about.

I grew up getting acquainted with my parents and siblings on the social media. Some call it stalking, I call it ‘trying to be a member of my family’.

I watched their enviable display of endearment for one another while I sat with tears running down my cheeks from the home of my grandmother.

On my surgical bed, before the surgeon arrives, I remember a moment in history when I stood by the bridge just wanting to end it.
I reflected and realized that I’m that girl left on my own by my folks so they could start a better life.
I’m that girl living with a grandmother who hates being stuck with the ugly grand daughter.
I’m that girl mocked by her peers and a group of delinquents.
A lifeless doll of my own self, that’s me, Gwendaline Rosabel.

Upon this surgical bed I lay wondering if I would ever smile at my reflection again.

I choose not to self-loate but to self-love.

Place your oversized feet in my shoes and tell me what you would do.

Yay or Nah. What would you choose?

I choose to love me.

I choose not to remain in this hell of misery.

I’m the warrior who has survived my history.

I stand to suffer more and stand strong.