Body Language is an essay series that speaks to the ongoing conversation about beauty standards around the world—an exploration of where we came from and where we're headed.
At that moment, the memories came flooding back. I remembered being buried under the rubble of the earthquake for three days and three nights. I remembered enduring over thirty operations and being in so much pain that I didn’t know if I was alive or already dead. I remembered lying in my hospital bed, staring at the ceiling, but seeing only darkness. I was just 11 at the time and I had no idea what a prosthetic leg was, let alone what wearing a prosthesis would mean for my life.
Thanks to the support of people who have helped keep my sense of dignity intact when I was at my lowest, my leg soon became a badge of honor. I began to see it as representative of my will to live by sheer determination. It is evidence of the countless times I have fought, and fallen, and picked myself back up again. So, why should I hide it when there’s nothing to hide?
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