I walk into the Spokane Arena, a large rodeo/motocross/concert venue that hosts hockey games throughout the winter season. It smells like popcorn, and those fantastic, mouth-watering, caramelized almonds that I adore, and the floor is always somewhat sticky, true to reality.
I sit down in my seat among my friends who are already there, and I debut for the first time since my operation, my new face. Everybody is stunned at first, then they begin to rave about it. I look so beautiful, they are really supportive and everyone is all smiles.
It has an interesting effect on me however. The pale white skin, small nose, deep curls and eyes so dark they’re almost black look stunning, to be sure, but I have lost all semblance of my former beauty, and I realize the gravity of my decision, I have lost my identity.
I begin to scream, and I run as fast as I can, crying and terrified, trying to escape from my own body. When my friends finally catch up with me I try to explain why I am so hurt and confused, but though they console me, nobody understands why I could possibly feel depressed about having gained so much beauty.