Wednesday, February 17, 2010

OK... So What?

My first serious relationship happened when I was 17 years old. Until that time, I had accepted that I would never be like my girlfriends in the boys’ eyes. I never had guys falling over themselves for me the way my girlfriends did, so I did the next best thing and made sure I was as good friends with them as I could be instead. Growing up with an older brother in the house meant that I had a knack for being ‘one of the boys’.

Having someone actually interested in me was frightening to say the least. He had approached me on my 17th birthday, as I was on the dancefloor celebrating with my friends, to compliment me on my dance skills and my style. I remember I was wearing a black fedora hat tipped to one side, as always finding ways to mask my face and draw attention to my style and not my skin.

He was 6 years older than me, which at the time was a huge age difference. I couldn’t believe that this man liked me, but he persisted in asking me out for weeks to follow, trying to make a date and I kept refusing, for a number of reasons. Firstly, the age difference played a major part. I had never had a serious boyfriend, so naturally I was afraid that we would not be on the same level of thought. I was afraid of what my parents would say. And most of all, I knew that he hadn’t seen my skin properly because of the hat I’d been wearing. I knew I wouldn’t be able to hide my Vitiligo from him and I didn’t want him to think he was getting a white girl when indeed I was anything but. I was scared to let myself like him.

Weeks passed, and in communicating we found out that we had a lot in common. Conversation was fantastic, he was friendly and outgoing like me and I soon developed a crush. Finally, I agreed to go on a date with him. To this day, that date is the most romantic first date I have ever experienced, perhaps because it was my first real date, or perhaps because he really stepped up to the plate to win me over. He took me out to Aphrodite’s Rock, a well-known landmark in Cyprus. We sat eating ice cream on a cliff overlooking the ocean, where a huge rock stands out of the water near the shore, rumoured to be the birthplace of Aphrodite, the Greek goddess of Love.

Again, because it was night-time - my friend, the Night - I thought he wouldn’t be able to see the spots on my face, and was nervous to tell him about my skin. I told him there was something he needed to know, which played a big part in me not agreeing to go out with him. I told of how my skin used to be dark, and was gradually changing to white over the years and had almost completely changed. I remember my voice was shaking as I imagined him jumping back in the car, taking me home and running away, never wanting to see me or speak to me again. I thought that news like mine would be too much responsibility for someone to take on and much more than they bargained for.

He listened to my story, watching me closely the entire time, and then… he shrugged his shoulders.

He said: “Okay… So what?”

I couldn’t believe what I was hearing.

“Well…” I stuttered. “My skin could change back… or it might not. I don’t know what’s going to happen, and I don’t know if you could handle being seen with me if my skin was patchy? I look strange…”

He looked at me like I was the silliest person in the world (which, at that moment, I felt like as well).

“What if I told you… that I don’t actually care what colour your skin is, or if you have more than one colour visible? And what if I told you that anybody who had anything to say to you about your skin, would have to go through me first?”

The feeling of relief that washed over me was indescribable. No one, much less a boy, had ever said that to me before and in that moment, I finally felt like I had someone on my side who wasn't obligated to defend me like family.

Our wonderfully fulfilling relationship lasted almost three years and we have a friendship that still stands today. And one thing I learned from that night…

Sometimes I let my skin matter to me more than it matters to others.

Think about it. Your Vitiligo is only as important as you choose to make it.

9 comments:

  1. Always loved this story :) Bet you cried good tears when writing this one. A-

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  2. Really enjoyed reading this...there's an air of serenity to it...I felt comfortable and it was more like I was listening to you speaking than I was reading.

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  3. you are so right,i run into that situation all the time, and most people dont even care, im the one who causes most of my anxiety when meeting someone- it a hard thing to get over , but, we need to always know that we are made ingods image- r caselton

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  4. very romantic story, as a guy, when you like a woman and very attracted to her, there is nothing in the world that can keep you away, and the more she run the attraction level rise. i enjoy reading this piece, keep up the good work!

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  5. Great story! Love those last two sentences.

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  6. Weldone Darcel, well written......I am black and have Vitiligo more on my face and relate to your story very well. What we present is what others perceive

    In all...love this most 'Think about it. Your Vitiligo is only as important as you choose to make it'.

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  7. My dear! I am so proud of you for sharing this! Not only is it inspiring for other Vitiligo sufferers, it is just plain inspiring and encouraging to hear there indeed exist men who are attracted to the PERSON and not certain exterior qualities! Even though it didn't work out between you two, this experience will resonate with you for eternity! God bless!

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  8. Great post. I am always encouraged by others that have a positive attitude towards vitiligo.

    Thanks,
    Keith

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  9. I ♥ this. Go brave shawdy!!! You are so inspirational..

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