> I had crushes, of course.
Just like other girls.
Small, silly daydreams that meant nothing to anyone but me.
I'd see a boy smile a certain way,
lend a pen, pass a note, walk past —
and my stomach would flutter like I'd just made a secret.
Not that I told anyone.
Because even then, I already felt like love wasn't something made for my kind.
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Who would want a girl like me?
Short.
Thighs too close.
Stomach not flat.
Skin too black for the compliments that were always reserved for the lighter ones.
I was never the "fine one."
Never the one boys pointed at when they whispered.
Never the one girls envied for getting attention.
Just me.
An alien.
Unchoosable.
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> But God, or fate, or something darker… had other plans.
Because while I looked at my crushes like innocent fireflies in the dark —
grown men began to look at me like prey.
And these weren't random men on the street.
They were teachers.
Just like in primary, it started subtly.
A look.
A pause.
A too-long comment on something that had nothing to do with school.
I thought I was imagining it.
Thought maybe they were disgusted by me — like I was some kind of mistake they couldn't quite ignore.
But their actions said something else.
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> Excuses to call me.
Favors no one else got.
Time spent alone — for no reason at all.
Some were my teachers.
Others weren't.
Even the headteacher at one point gave me that look —
the one that makes your skin crawl while your face pretends to smile.
And still I couldn't understand why me?
I was only in Senior Two.
And girls like Faith, Eva, and others — they were beautiful.
Light-skinned.
Shapely.
Confident.
I didn't compare.
I wasn't trying to.
But they chose me to notice.
---
At first I thought it meant I was special.
Then I realized it only meant I was vulnerable.
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> When you're a girl like me, attention never feels like a compliment.
It feels like a trap.
A curse.
A slow erosion of your safety.
I started to hide my body in oversized clothes.
To avoid eye contact.
To pretend I didn't understand the compliments disguised as jokes.
To kill any part of me that ever wanted to be noticed.
---
And slowly, I stopped crushing on boys.
Not because I didn't want love —
but because love no longer felt like something I could want safely.
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