Historias ocultas tras el objetivo de una cámara

35. White Childhood

Let's start from the beginning: 13.7 billion years ago everything was compressed in an incredibly dense and incredibly hot spot in the nowhere, and then the Big Bang occurred.

Okay, okay, let's imagine I'm the centre of the universe –because I am– and let's start from my birth, and not from the birth of our constantly-expanding universe.

I was born in 1997, free of white spots in my skin. When I was three years old my parents told me that I was going to have a little brother. Most of the kids are jealous and they feel possessive. Nobody likes sharing anything, but sharing your parents? That's ridiculous.

But I've never been a normal girl, so I not only felt jealous, but developed an autoimmune disease: vitiligo.

My brother was my birthday present –or my parents said so. (Do you understand now how this little girl felt? Why she didn't want to share her parents? Her brother not only stole her parents but her birthday. And her skin colour). No, well, I'm just kidding. I love my brother. But it is true that it all happened at the same time and all the doctors I visited arrived to the same conclusion: I developed an autoimmune disease and it was provoked by the nerves and the jealousy.

I don't remember anything of my life without vitiligo. I just grew up with it. It's like having brown or blue eyes. It's just part of you, isn't it? It never bothered me.

But there is one moment, one special moment: when I was five years old. After summer I went to school again. I wasn't conscious of my vitiligo; I was a happy and stupid little kid. Children don't worry about their skin, or I didn't, at least.

But then the inevitable thing happened, when a little stupid boy asked me about it:

"What is that?" he asked, pointing at my knee.

"What?"

"That white spot. Here, in your knee."

I felt bad. I thought it was normal, until then. I didn't know what it was, I didn't know if it was good or bad. I didn't know what to say, to do or to think. My mind went blank.

I don't remember anything else. My memory stops here. There can be so many endings to this short story: I could have laughed at it, or run and hide and cry and hate everybody. But I just don't remember.

Why? Why I don't remember it? It could be a bad memory and my mind has locked it, so I could never remember what happened after it. Or it could be a good memory, and be as good as any other memory, so I've already forgotten it.

It happened long ago, so I don't care now about what happened then. This memory is in blank.. I just have to try to do my best and think positively. I want to write a happy story of my life in the white paper called "future".

All my childhood was turning white. I was seven, eight, nine and I had more and more spots over all my body. I had tried nearly everything: yoga, creams, sunbathing, hiding from the sun... and nothing worked.

I didn't care at all. What is more, I enjoyed explaining little kids what I had, but the funniest thing was their theories and advices.

"What is that?" asked one day a five-year-old boy, pointing at my knee.

"It's an illness. But it doesn't hurt. It's just part of me: you're white skinned and I'm two-coloured skinned. It's like my own tattoo, and nobody can have the same." He looked at me, scratching his chin, like if he was thinking so hard.

"I don't think it's an illness, I have a theory: you don't know how to sunbathe, you may have been under a tree and the leaves may have..."

I started laughing, it was the best theory any kid has ever told me. And then he told me how to sunbathe better. Seriously, I've never laughed more. And her mother was astonished with my reaction. She probably thought I would feel bad about her kids' explanation. But I didn't.

I don't.

I like it, dealing with kids and their theories.

I know I'm not perfect, but I like laughing at me and my imperfections. I love it; I love my spots and what they have taught me. I've learned not to judge anyone for its appearance. I've learned to love me the way I am. And I've learned to be happy 'despite'; because being happy 'because' it's too easy.

I'm just a teenager but I think that I've learned plenty of things about this disease, not only the treatments that work and the ones that do not, but to feel free of complex. I love myself and I'm proud of it.

As I said at the beginning of this short story, I'm the centre of the universe. The universe is infinite, and since it is infinite, anything in it is the centre of it. I am. You are. And if you don't want to make the world notice that you can be the centre of it, someone else will. It's your moment: you're a growing star prepared to shine. You can be the centre of our universe. The only thing you have to do is realise it and make it true.

I am, and you?

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Relato-colaboración con Mike Huard para su proyecto "Restless soul, endless hope" sobre el vitiligo. Si queréis comprar el libro os paso el link para que podáis leer todo el resto de relatos.