Dystopian Reality

About Me, Circa 1990s

There's one thing that you should know about me, and it is that I am African. I was born on a cold June morning on the western shores of Africa to an excited couple who had been trying for a child for almost half a decade. For this, one can say that I am a living example of heaven-on-earth miracles. When I mentioned earlier that I have gone through sacrifices and such, this little background snippet was included. Because even before I was born there was trouble in the life that I would live.

Naturally, the finances of my parents lived up to the expectations of the stereotypical "poor Africans" that has been portrayed in movies. More heartbreaking news came to my baby self when my parents had to adopt me to two foreigners that they did not know very well. Growing up, I remember asking my new parents why they looked like Cinderella and Prince Charming but I, Princess Tiana. They always explained it the best they could, but even as a child, I could sense that their explanations were illogical. At last, they tried with The Lion King but it wasn't too late that I was telling them that Simba still looked like Mustafa in the end. They fessed up then. And as I grew up I learned the true meaning of the sacrifice that my biological parents had made.

So, there you go, now you know that I am black African with an adopted family, and if you caught onto that little simile earlier, then you know that my family is Caucasian.

Unlike Cinderella though, I do not have an evil step family. No, in a fact my parents and sister are quite the opposite. We've lived a comfortable life much like Blair of the Upper East Side. My older sister and I have always gotten along; in fact, she is quite overprotective of me. I remember many times in high school when she would fight off my bullies tooth and nail. Ironically, they were her friends but she never missed an opportunity to remind them where they were without her, and that was at the bottom of the food chain. That is my sister for you; she's all smiles until you touch her family.

With an older sister like Magdalena Jeanne d'Arc, you would think that high school was a breeze. That is simply not true but if my sister asks, you heard the opposite of that. Again, I find it funny because her posé were those who made my life a living hell. Much like her namesake though, my sister was always my personal héroïne in that world of sweaty gym socks and elegant snobby rich girls.

My whole life, my family has acted much like a shield; they encouraged me and tried very hard to give the kind of love that they thought my biological parents would have showed to me. I appreciate them for this because there were times that I was so lonely in my mind, rendered speechless by this cruel world of hate that my mom, or dad, or even my sister would remind me of what is important, which in the end has always been family.

But despite all this, I was still envious. Have you ever realized a horrible personal characteristic which you wished to go away so terribly? Well, for me personally this was envy.

Despite being a baby when I was adopted and a "socialite" my entire life, I have never felt included. I have always felt less fortunate when it comes to all departments of life, all but wealth and the love of family that is. This especially became apparent when my sister and I came of the dating age. Naturally as the oldest, my sister blossomed into a beautiful elegant young lady while I was still a gangly, preteen. This makes sense since she is two years older than me but it did not make my social anxiety any lower because as smart as I am, I was in the same grade as her. Don't get me wrong, my sister is very smart but I was two grades ahead. Anyway the minute puberty hit, gone were those days that we talked about Kim Possible and once were the "this boy is cute" talk. Personally, I did not understand why she was wasting her brains and beauty on "stupid immature" boys. This, of course, was until I came of age but unlike her I was a whole another case.

Whereas she grew tall to be 5'7, I was still 5'3, whereas she had no pimples and acne, I was extremely blessed with them along with hyperpigmentation. Whereas she became a D cup overnight, I was barely a 34B. You clearly get the gist; I was not blossoming like her. And in the age that we were growing up - 90s-2000s - this sucked badly. Boys never approached me unless they wanted to get close to Lena, in which she instructed me explicitly to give them the wrong number. This was so frequent that she and I used to mess with guys by collecting their numbers and then giving it to them unknowingly. Ohh, those were good times.