Beautifully Different
Texto del Guión Gráfico
- I sit in my chair, head down, confused. “But my teacher liked it, and everyone else drew it too!” I say starting to get a little frustrated. “I drew the family from a book. All our books have the same picture. They wanted us to draw the family.” “But where are we in this picture, where are you?” Mother demands. “Do you not want our family anymore? Do you want to be a mem-sahib, a white girl?” Confusion fills my head, What does mother mean? What did I do wrong? All I did was draw a family. I watch as mother sobs looking at the picture mumbling, “What will happen to you? What did I do to you?” She continues to sob as I stand quietly absorbing my mother’s change of mood. After a long while, mother takes me to bed and tucks me in.
- I hear my mother walk back to the kitchen continuing to cry. I lay in bed still shocked at mother’s reaction. At this point, I knew she didn’t like the picture I drew, but I wasn’t sure what to do. I wait long for mother to go to bed and I quietly god out of bed. I tiptoe down the hallway to the washroom where there was a full-length body mirror behind the door. I look into the mirror and observe myself. The brownness of my skin, my staring, dark eyes, black hair shaping my face, my brownish pink lips, and the scar on my nose. I stood for a while staring at myself, lost in the act of contemplation until I heard soft footsteps behind the door. I picked up the cat, walked back to my room, and fell asleep.
- It’s snowing again today as I walk to school. I made sure I had brought the painting back to school with me. I took the painting out of my bag and showed it to theteacher. “I brought it back,” I say. “Why?” The teacher asks. “Do you not like it anymore?” “It’s not finished. The books didn’t have something, can I add it?” “Go ahead” The teacher grabbed the colours from the cupboard. I examined the room, full of children of all different colours, each beautiful in their own way. I placed some newspapers on the ground, then started to paint. When I was done, I brought it back to the teacher. “It’s finished, I drew the rest,” I say with a smile. “Who are they?” The teacher asked. I look at the painting and point to what I added. A dark-skinned family arranged next to what I had drawn yesterday. “It’s the other family,” I replied.
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