24th December 2004, a significant date for many: Christmas eve, birthdays, and more. For me, it was the day I was scarred for life.

I was 18 months old and it was my family’s first time visiting our home in India after moving to Dubai. My mother wrapped me up in a wool and synthetic mix jumper to keep me warm. Sat upon the counter, I blissfully observed my surroundings. My family is laughing in the living room, my mother is in the kitchen making steaming cups of cardamom tea and a simple green washcloth on the counter. I had seen this washcloth before, and used it many times to clean my kitchen in Dubai. I bet this kitchen needs cleaning as well. I reach for the cloth, it’s practically begging to be snatched up. I yank it. As I pulled it towards me, a searing pain began in my left arm. I screamed. My mother turned around to find the kettle filled with boiling water that she had placed upon the green wash cloth had toppled over - its scorching contents spilling onto my arm. The bright orange jumper (truly a fashion faux pas) I was wearing trapped the heat, forcing my skin to sizzle and stick to its treacherous fibres. I was rushed to the hospital where the doctors told my parents I had second-degree burns. Second degree burns on a 1-year-old. My parents tell me that it was the worst 2 weeks of their lives but I survived and was left with a scar protruding on my skin as a reminder. Clearly I didn’t know it at the time, but this scar has taught me an important life lesson: to love myself.

When I was 11 years old, someone at school pointed it out and asked me what happened. I felt my ears burn with shame. I had never thought that the burn on my arm stood out to people until that day. It was ugly and strange and made me different. I didn’t like that. So, I wore a jumper every day in the 35°C heat to cover up my biggest insecurity. No one could make fun of it if they never see it! Me and my scar lived happily in secrecy for years. When I was 15, I began working at a small nursery to gain some work experience. It was there I met a little girl named Anaïs. As I helped her build the ‘tallest tower in the world’ she spotted my scar. She turned to me with wonder in her eyes and asked what it was. I anxiously told her that it was a scar from a burn I got as a child. Her eyes widened and she exclaimed “THAT’S SO COOL!”. It was then I came to the realisation that I was…cool. To this young girl, my heroic burn journey was fascinating. Why did I automatically assume that everyone thought I was weird? When people ask me, what happened to my arm, they ask because they’re curious about it. It’s mysterious to them. It’s cool to them.

I stopped wearing the jumper after that – clearly me and jumpers don’t have a great relationship anyway. I learned to embrace my scar. It is a reminder that we heal no matter how hurt we are. I now not only see the beauty in my scar, but the beauty in my imperfections. My body is beautiful, my stretch marks are beautiful, my fat rolls are beautiful. Learning this taught me to be self-assured, independent and courageous. This is something I am passionate about imprinting on future generations and I know that my next endeavor at college will lead me down this path. I want to walk around the world proud of my scar, I want Anaïs to walk around the world without letting her insecurities define her. I want to remind everyone that you are beautiful no matter what.