The Perfect Girl

5

"Gives them what they want to see, Both laughs and cries too easily,"

I couldn't believe we were having guests over on vacation, and actually cooking. Wasn't the entire point of a vacation not to do anything? To lie about like a sack of potatoes, to just sleep all day?

Apparently, my parents thought differently.

We spent a good while cooking in the too-small hotel kitchen that was clearly not designed for anything more than microwaving. The stove must have been for decoration.

It was a ridiculous sight, watching my mother attempt to work in this kitchen, especially with my brothers' and my own help, because even at home, with a much larger space, she had control issues in the kitchen. Not only could I not cook properly according to her, but I was pouring the sauce into the dish wrong, stirring wrong, washing the dishes wrong.

It didn't help that Amar's own personality was such a stubborn, strong one. It was virtually impossible for him to take my mother's sharp orders and remain quiet. While Shuayb and I had long ago realized it wasn't worth the effort it took to argue with Ami since she wouldn't listen anyway, Amar refused to cooperate. His struggles just made the whole thing worse.

By the time we were finally done putting together a decent meal, I felt like slamming my head into a door.

However, when Uncle Ishaaq and his family appeared, we were a smiling, well put together family. It was remarkable, how functional our dysfunction could appear.

We didn't really have the space for the divide there usually was between the women and men at these types of meetings. Usually, just naturally, Ami, Aunty Lina, Jana and I ended up at least a couple of meters away from the boys. But here, there was one set of chairs and one table. We were trapped in much too close proximity, or that's how it felt.

Soon, though, Jana and I were caught up in our own conversation, and everyone else around us began to fade from my focus.

"You coming to the swim night tonight?" I asked.

"Yup, I think," she said, "Are you?"

"I don't know. I asked Ami, but she doesn't want to go."

"Why don't we go together?" Jana suggested, "My mum doesn't want to go either."

"Sure," I nodded, "Let's do that."

"'Kay! Should I come here or do you wanna meet at the pool?"

"Your room is pretty close, we can just meet here right?"

"Sounds good." Jana said. There was a pause, then, "Oh my God! You won't believe who I met today!"

I raised my eyebrows, "Who?"

"Safa!"

Crap.

"You remember her, right?"

"Yes." I mumbled.

"Man, I haven't seen her since high school," Jana sighed, "Have you?"

"No," I said, "Honestly, you're like the only person from high school I still talk to."

"I still talk to Maliha sometimes," Jana said.

"I should get in touch with her," I said, "I have her number somewhere."

"Yeah, we should all get together." Jana agreed, "By the way, that hijab colour looks really good on you."

"Thank you," I said, but then looked down to check what colour it actually was.

I had a problem with dressing properly. I hardly even bothered with my outfits. Even if my pant and shirt matched, my hijab would not. It was just too much work. I also didn't particularly like the way I looked in anything, so I'd stopped putting work into it.

I didn't like my own face, or my body, for that matter. I didn't like how crooked my nose was, or how my jaw was shaped, or how chubby my cheeks were when I smiled. I didn't like how disproportionately wide my hips were in comparison to my waist, or the fat on my stomach, or how large my thighs were, or how my body was just not small enough.

I hated how perfect everyone else seemed in comparison to me. I hated looking at myself in the mirror, so I didn't look.

I tried not to think about it, and mostly, I didn't.

It was only when I looked at a photo of myself or happened to see my own reflection that I felt anger at my entire being well up inside me.