Honor (BWWM)

Chapter 1

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Yasmin

I groaned as the annoying sound of my alarm clock pulled me out of my dreamless sleep. I picked my phone up and turned off my alarm a little too aggressively, before getting out of bed.

I was so not a morning person. I absolutely hated waking up early and never understood why people actually liked it, but I wanted to get my classes over with as early as possible, so I could have the rest of the day to do whatever I wanted or needed to, so here I was.

I sigh through my tiredness as I get up and make my way to my bathroom to get my morning routine started. After handling my bathroom routine, I went to my closet to figure out what I was going to wear.

Today was my first day of university. If I was being honest, I was sick of school. I was sick of feeling like I had to follow what other people said, I felt like I was in a gilded cage forced to stick to the confines of others. Unfortunately, I had listened to my family and teachers in high school and now I'm here.

I was an artist, specifically a painter. I loved to paint. It allowed me to express myself, even though some who looked at it didn't really get the message behind it. But that never kept me from hoping that at least one person would look past their own eyes and see the real me through my paintings. I feel like my paintings are my only safe place, where I can be myself with only the limits I give myself, if I so choosed.

I grab a graphic sleeveless shirt, a pair of shorts, and my black maxairs. I've never been a girly girl and instead favor comfortability more than I do the phrase "beauty is pain". I'd say, I'm arguably a tomboy, but when I look at other girls that are far less girly than I am and take the 'boy' in tomboy literal, then I start to think I'm a nice middle instead. I'd rather play a game of sports than go shoe shopping for heels. Yes, I can barely walk in heels, sue me. I put my clothes on and check the time.

8:40 a.m. Twenty minutes until class starts.

I huff as I walk to the bathroom. I take my bonnet off and look at my hair. It was thick, curly, and let's not forget to talk about the shrinkage. Although my hair could be frustrating and most of the time it did what it wanted to do, I still loved it. I was proud of who I was, even though it was hard being a young black woman in America.

I decided to keep it simple and smooth and gel my hair down, as best I could, into a mid ponytail. I look at my make-up free face in the mirror one more time. Again, I'm not a girly girl. All I know how to do is eye liner, mascara, and lipgloss. Everything else, I'm as lost as a doe without her mother. My mother wasn't ever into make-up so it's not like she could teach me and I think her nonchalant attitude towards it kind of just passed down to me. I just couldn't see myself buying all that stuff just to put it on my face. I'd rather spend that money on my art supplies for my art work than trying to paint my own face. But that didn't mean that I judged others who loved it. To each their own is how I feel about it. If you love make-up, do you boo boo and Imma continue to be a "plain jane". I didn't necessarily think I was ugly, but I also wasn't the most beautiful girl in the world. There were way too many girls that I thought looked extremely better than me, with or without make-up. I could admit my self-esteem wasn't the best, but what was I to do?

I grab my pre-packed backpack and left. I put my headphones in and make my trek to my first class: Psychology 1001. It was one of my bigger classes, so when I entered the classroom, which was really an auditorium, I wasn't surprised to see what looked to be a little over sixty people already there, with many more empty seats.