“But Miss, you are the most beautiful”

“But Miss, you are the most beautiful”

That statement moves me back in time. I am standing in the doorway of a mold-stained room listening to the words of one of my students before she heads home for the day.

This was the first time I had seen her wear a sari to class. Most days she greeted me in her school uniform with her hair pulled back neatly, a lost face in a room of many girls. But that day she stood out.

Her hair fell long and met the drape of her sari over her shoulder. The middle part in her hair framed her bindi which was placed with extra precision. She looked bright and brave and spoke with strength.

During our goodbyes that day I wanted to tell her that she looked strong and elegant but my words came out far more simply.

“You look amazing today. I love seeing you in this sari,” I said.

Her response was spoken with defeat, “ But Miss, you are the most beautiful.”

Her English was not broken or misinterpreted. She meant exactly what she said and I felt like I had failed her.

I stood before them, each class without addressing the things that make us different and beautifully unique. We were all on different journeys in different bodies in different places but society had led them to believe mine was far superior.

I wish I would have been more honest with them. I wish I would have told them that I am not living this life because I am more brave or deserving, but because of luck.

I wish I would have told them that the color of their hair possessed deep browns like those of the mud in the holiest river in India and that my hair only looks like this because I pay hundreds of dollars for it at a salon.

I wish I would have told them that I was terrified of the future and some nights I couldn’t sleep because I had no idea what my life would look like a year from now.

I wish I would have told them that I have made many mistakes in my life, some incredibly embarrassing and shameful.

In theory, I uplifted these girls up each day but I look back and wonder what would have happened if I showed them my humanity. I wonder how would our time together have been different if I let them see my flaws instead of letting them believe I had everything together.

I wonder how I could have empowered them if they knew I was as deeply flawed and afraid as they were.

Instead of being silently thankful each time one of their stories empowered me to be strong or resilient, what would have happened if I thanked them loudly and genuinely.