Bare

Today's writing is difficult for me,

because I know not everyone 

will understand this feeling. 

But I think you deserve an explanation. 

In my early twenties, 

my skin broke apart before my eyes. 

Acene bloomed endlessly across my face,

deep scars settling into places 

I thought would never heal. 

I spent thousands 

on skincare, supplements, hope -

trying to fix something 

that made me afraid of mirrors.

People used to ask me, 

"Where do you get that confidence?"

To speak so freely, 

to stand before crowds, 

to become visible without fear., 

But what I truly heard was this:

"How can someone who looks like you 

stand so boldly without shame?" 

And perhaps they were right. 

No one asks beautiful women 

where they get their confidence from. 

Beauty is often mistaken 

as confidence itself. 

So when people looked at me with surprise,

I understood what they meant. 

I did not look like someone 

who should have confidence in her bones. 

And the truth is

I didn't. 

I hid my shame behind composure. 

I smiled like I had accepted myself

long before I actually did 

No one knew how deeply 

I mourned my own reflection.

Until slowly,

I learned gentleness towards myself, 

I learned that healing 

is not always immediate, 

but it is possible. 

My skin began to recover.

The scars softened. 

My face grew brighter, healthier. 

And people began asking me

to share my breakout journey. 

At first, I hesitated.

But eventually, I did. 

Because if my story 

could help someone survive theirs, 

then perhaps the pain 

had not been meaningless after all. 

And for a while, 

it felt beautiful

to turn suffering into comfort 

for someone else. 

Then one day 

a man asked for my before-and-after photos. 

He said he wanted to recommend my skincare brand to his customers. 

I trusted him, so I gave them willingly. 

Months later, 

I discovered my face 

had traveled far beyond my permission. 

Passed from group to group,

shown in classes, 

shared among strangers, 

who knew nothing about the girl 

inside those photograph. 

And suddenly, 

what once felt empowering 

began to feel violating. 

Yes, I wanted to help.

But I did not want my vulnerability

to become public property. 

There is a strange loneliness 

in seeing your insecurities 

circulate in rooms 

you have never entered. 

Since then, 

every request for my photos

has felt heavier than before. 

Because people only see testimony.

They do not see the trembling hands

that once took those photo in secret, 

or the courage it took 

to let the world witness them. 

Not everyone will understand this feeling. 

But those who have carried shame 

in their own skin 

probably will. 

Assalammualaikum,

I would like to start this entry by apologising if what I am gonna write today, may conflicted our views on certain things. Many knows that I have successfully recovered from severe breakout. 

When I was a teen, my skin was oily. When I was in college, I had combination skin. When I started my degree, my skin started to get frustrated and rebellious. Hence, acne all over my face and it left deep scars. Deep and dark I shall say. 

Then, I spent thousands for my skincare and supplements to get my skin clear. I was sad but I try not to think a lot about that. I was ashamed of my skin, but never once I show it. I hid in disguise. I grateful for abundance confidence Allah lend me, that's the only reason I could survive.

Until I met Artistry x Nutrilite 

When I recovered. My skin started to clear, and getting better, I couldn't be more than happy. That I finally finf skincare that match me (in and out). Ofc, I would be willing to share my experience to everyone. I hope my stories could help them pass theirs too. 

But I could only be happy if I am the one who delivers the message. 

This is the toughest part to say. I swear..

Once, someone asked my before-and-after picture. I give it to him. I thought he could use that to help someone else. Never did I know that he also shared my photo with his group. I know he mean well, but it just makes me uncomfortable knowing that my picture was in the hand of countless strangers. 

Since that, I don't feel good about sharing my acne stories to people. Especially letting then having my before-and-after picture. 

This is not a feeling someone with no experience will understand. 

When sparring partner request to share my pictures, ofc it put me on the edge. I know I could help, and I really wanted to. But I just don't feel good about that and I hate that feeling. 

Inheritance

Because I am a woman, 

the world taught me 

how to carry burdens 

that were never mine to begin with. 

Others fail, 

yet it is my shoulders

that are asked to endure;

as though womanhood itself 

were an inheritance of blame. 

And slowly,

day after day, 

the world has made me afraid -

afraid to one day bring 

a daughter into a life 

that delights in breaking wings 

before they ever learn the sky. 

Not because I hate women. 

No. 

It is because I know too well 

the weight they carry.

I am not asking for revolutions, 

nor do I hunger for crowns of equality.

I only wish for a world 

where men remember 

the duties they were given, 

and women are no longer taught

to shrink themselves 

for the comfort of others.

Because a woman's place 

was never merely in the kitchen,

nor hidden beneath voices 

that tell her to be quite 

to yield, 

to understand, 

to endure. 

I know the beauty of gentleness. 

I know the grace of patience, 

But I despise the way 

those virtues are turned into chains, 

binding women 

for the rest of their lives. 

Perhaps my knowledge is still small. 

Perhaps I know too little,

too little of religion 

too little of the world.

Yet I know what it feels like 

to live conquered-

by traditions, 

by families, 

by invisible hands deciding,

how woman should love, 

how woman should breathe.

And every time I try to speak, 

the world whispers softly:

"Be silent,

You are a woman"