Colour of skin

Having spent two thirds of my adult life abroad and frequent travel to most of the European cities, not once have I felt different from others. At school or nursery, I am just a regular mom who takes interest in her daughter’s progress and her friends. At workplace, I never let being a woman, or a single mother, stop me from achieving my potential or grabbing as many opportunities, of course within my limit.

The colour of my skin has also never been an issue. In fact, being a few shades darker makes me more appealing in this country, be it both men and women. Guys think I’m exotic whilst ladies feel I’m lucky not to spend any dime on tanning service. More often than not, whenever I travel to Southern Europe, people tend to speak to me in their mother tongue thinking I am one of them. In fact, once I was cursed for not being able to speak their language as this man, a shop owner by the way, thought I was a native and felt it was an insult.

Ironically, I’m comfortable in my own skins in predominately white or fairer places.

Much can be said when I go home or visit another Asian city. An image of perfectly white complexion is splashed everywhere thinking that it is a ticket to get a man, land a job or call for good customer service. My appearance becomes a benchmark by my fellow countrymen or regional-mate (er, is there such term?).

I have heard many horrifying stories on the way sales assistants treat when they see someone of a darker skin or people who dress casually entering their boutique. It seems they have been programmed that these groups do not have what it takes to splurge in their stores, thus unworthy to be given any customer service. A friend once went into a shop famous for monogram designs just after Friday prayers. Naturally he was without his jacket and wore those popular Japanese slippers. NO one bothered to serve him. Tired by the way he was being treated, he called the boutique manager, flashed his card and said he wanted 10 items from that shop pronto. Those sales assistants scrambled around, picked the items and wrapped them. Before he left, he gave them his piece of mind and I bet their face turned red.

Another friend had similar incident. Married to an European and used to casual attire, she decided to go to that famous towers and entered a boutique. She wanted to have a look at a handbag but they said it was for display only, with a very irritating tone of voice. Furious by their attitude, she left only to return the next day looking very posh and husband in arm. They were speechless and tried to sell her a goodie but she told them off, saying she rather spent her money elsewhere.

It doesn’t help much when our other half isn’t bald or has very few salt hair, no belly and devilishly good-looking. Whispers of “the maid snagged the boss” probably played in their mind. They wonder how this “ugly duckling” got so lucky and start to make ridiculous assumptions.

Somehow they forget that these so-called “maids” happen to have world-class education, top notch career and not forgetting, the right charms and personality. They do not have to be a swan to nail a good man. Latte or mocha skin, it should not be a tool to judge a person.

It is just sad that I feel different in places where I shouldn’t. Never mind. Now where is my apron? The young lady is expecting warm puffs for her tea today.