I GREW up hating the skin color I was born with.

During a time of identity discovery and overwhelming insecurities—also known as high school—backhanded compliments and snide remarks about my medium complexion were thrown at me on a daily occurrence. My first high school crush once told me that I’d be pretty if only my complexion resembled my mother’s⁠: Light pink, pale, and perfect. My high school peers even belted out the pop hit Dark Horse by Katy Perry every time I walked the school hallways from one class to the next.

Since then, I wished for the kind of transformation that Nam—the main character in the famous Thai romance comedy A Little Thing Called Love (2010)—successfully went through. Nam’s struggles about her physical appearance and confidence in the former half of the film deeply resonated with my existing insecurities. At certain moments, I even felt like her story was too similar to mine.

Nam, like many others, daydreamed about winning the heart of Shone, a popular senior who seemed way out of her league; mostly due to her crooked smile, outdated eye glasses, and darker complexion. With slight persuasion from her group of friends and her enormous desire to get Shone’s attention, Nam was determined to undergo the ultimate summer makeover. As the movie portrayed, the makeover’s success meant a whiter, therefore, more beautiful and confident Nam. There’s a sliver of hope for me, I thought while watching the scenes in the movie unfold, I can just be like Nam. This realization marked the beginning of my obsessive friendship with various whitening beauty products.

I drenched and bathed myself with whitening soaps, scrubs, lotions, and many more. Wearing shorts or anything that would expose my skin to the sun was cautiously avoided. Even beach trips that I used to long for started to become terrifying as I was adamant that outdoor activities may backtrack my so-called progress. Such desperate determination to rid myself of this insecurity ultimately dictated the rest of my life.

Not until recent local campaigns of self-love and self-acceptance were promoted on social media did I start to truly realize the depth of internalized colorism that I embodied for the past eight years. I witnessed local makeup brands such as Colourette Cosmetics and Happy Skin Cosmetics finally manufacture products suitable for all types of skin tones, and local morena celebrities cease advocating for the whitening products I religiously worshipped.

There’s no doubt that these color positivity campaigns have started to go against the grain and move towards a future free from skin color prejudice and discrimination, but its impact on my personal journey truthfully remains to be minute.

In navigating life with these advocacies in the background, I realized that the desperate determination I developed during my formative years has totally consumed me. Deep down, I still look at my mother and wish that her pink, pale, and perfect skin was something that I also inherited.

In rare times that I feel the rays of the sun on my skin during quarantine and isolation, I instinctively remind myself to get cover. My father’s jokes about my lightening complexion trigger a familiar flutter of excitement and pride as if I finally achieved something. Admittedly, knowing well enough about this issue leads to an overwhelming feeling of shame and disappointment soon after.

Everyone is finally accepting me; why is it so difficult to do the same? It’s frustrating to admit that I’m yet to be capable of encouraging people who feel ugly, undeserving, and uncomfortable with their own skin.

But I wrote this piece as a reminder to myself that although I am yet to free myself of internalized colorism, at the very least, I am trying. And to you, whose story sounds too similar to mine, I hope that you find it in you to do the same.