This dress is so beautiful, aunty.

I really don’t like the dress. In fact, I don't want to wear a dress to dinner. If I am being forced to wear one it may as well be a dress I look good in. This one makes me feel like a giant blueberry with the blue puffy sleeves and dome shape at the bottom. It reminds me of a dress that was made in the 1850’s and last time I remember we don't live in a time anymore where women are trapped in their homes and have to tend to their husbands and children. 

Well at least I don't, but I can't say the same for her. Her days practically look the same and revolve around her husband and son. She wakes us, makes herself look pretty, whatever the hell that means, serves her husband and son breakfast and when her husband leaves for work, she cleans, cooks, and basically does all of the house work. Today is probably one of the very few times that she leaves the house to do something fun. Well, fun for her. 

This day comes nowhere close to my definition of fun. I don't like shopping, especially dress shopping. I was perfectly fine wearing my jumpsuit. Not just any jumpsuit but THE jumpsuit. The red color of the jumpsuit is as bright and vibrant as the chilli peppers that mum puts in her famous curry. When I wear the color red it gives me the same feeling as when I taste mum's curry. I feel on fire like if I was to walk into a room everyone will instantly drop to their knees. 

Now that jumpsuit makes me feel like a boss a** b*tch, but god forbid a woman in this family feels confident and powerful. It may intimidate the men and make them feel like we could do better, which we can. I would rather wear an orange jumpsuit and be thrown in jail than wear this dress. Being locked up without freedom is not much different than how I feel now, just a better outfit. But what other options do I have? No one does anything different in my family. All the women wear dresses and skirts, but of course, they should be under the knees and not too tight. 

You're right, we should get makeup to go with the outfit. I don't have much at home. 

Did that just come out of my mouth? Did I just ask for makeup? There is a reason I don't have any at home because I don't feel comfortable wearing it. I didn't feel comfortable when I was five and mum was patting my cheeks with pink blush to give me the rosy apple cheeks that she saw Cameron Diaz had on the magazine cover. I didn't even feel comfortable when I was twelve and every auntie was teaching me how to contour my nose so it doesn't look so wide and short but long and straight like Angelina Jolie. I most definitely didn't feel comfortable when I was sixteen and my cousins were showing me how to make my foundation look lighter. 

Of course, that doesn't stop my mum, grandmother, and aunties from buying loads of makeup to basically hide everything that I am. They usually end up never opened and forgotten about, but now that I'm 18 it seems that they are more persistent. Even my uncles and grandfather are adding their opinions like I should care so much about what they want and their opinions. 

I guess I'll just go with the nude lipstick since it is better than the red.

It’s definitely not better than the red. The red compliments my sugar brown skin perfectly, but “proper” women don’t wear red lipsticks. All the women in my family wear nude lipsticks and never bright colors like red. The nude says elegant and ladylike, but red says wh*re and sl*t. The goal is to look good enough to make men want to marry me, but not too flirtatious, or else they will think I am “easy” and will not respect me enough to marry me. 

Oh my god, how could I forget? I need to get my eyebrows and body waxed. Thank you so much for reminding me.

If this day couldn't get any worse. Now I have to sit through an hour of pain to remove hair from my body. The hair that everyone once found cute when I was born is now seen as disgusting. Everyone has hair, but now that I am a woman I am expected to be more hairless than a Sphynx. While men can wear their hair on their bodies with pride because it makes them manly, I have been expected to be hairless since the age of 13. Every single time I cried, I was told beauty is-ow! pain. 

Yeah I remember, beauty is pain and the pain is worth it. 

I'm not sure this amount of pain is ever worth it. No matter how much makeup I wear or how smooth my body feels, that never makes me feel confident and beautiful. No matter how many compliments I get from my uncles, grandfather, father, and cousins I still feel- ow! ugly. 

Even as I look in the mirror, I cannot recognize myself. I do not see anything that looks like me. I do not see any of my bold features that connect me to my Indian ancestors. I guess that's the whole point. 

You're right, every guy in the room will think I am beautiful tonight.