When I was in high school I would change my clothes in the summer at my friends’ houses, in my sister’s car, on the side of my house and a countless number of other secret spots I’ve found over the years.
My “friends” would say, “It’s so hot out! Why are you wearing pants are you crazy?!” My initial reaction was anger.
I felt hatred for the culture and religion I was born into. I didn’t want to be brown. I didn’t want to dress modestly. I didn’t want to have any hair on my body. I felt like a foreigner in my own skin.