I was born into a world of darkness. Since my first moments, my eyes never opened to light, shapes, or colors. They say I’m blind, though I don’t truly understand what that means. I only know that the world for me is filled with smells, sounds, and gentle touches, while the shapes and colors that others describe remain mysteries I can’t grasp.
From the start, people looked at me differently. My littermates could run and chase shadows I couldn’t see, their paws and noses always darting towards what seemed to be magic. I would sit there, quietly, feeling the warmth of the sun on my fur, listening to the rhythm of their steps, wondering what it might be like to see the things they saw. But often, I felt left behind, not only by my siblings but by the humans who came to see us, always passing me by with quick glances, muttering words like “deformed” or “pitiful.”
In time, I learned to accept that to many, I was an unwanted sight. I heard people say that I was “broken” or that I looked “odd.” Some even said I was “ugly.” I didn’t understand why, though I could tell from their voices that it wasn’t meant as kindness. My heart ached as I listened, wondering why something beyond my control made me so different and seemingly unlovable.
One day, though, something unexpected happened. A gentle voice broke through the stream of indifferent ones. It was a woman who knelt down beside me, her hand reaching out, not pulling back. Her fingers brushed gently along my fur, and in that simple touch, I felt something I’d yearned for but had never known—acceptance. She didn’t recoil or call me ugly; instead, she spoke softly, her voice filled with warmth and curiosity. She didn’t seem to mind that I couldn’t look up into her eyes, that I couldn’t see her smile or her kind expression.
When she decided to take me home, I felt something awaken in my heart. She chose me not despite my blindness, but perhaps even because of it. She spoke to me about love, about how every creature has a place in the world, about how true beauty is in kindness and empathy, not in physical appearance. Every day with her, I learned a little more about love, about how it doesn’t judge or discriminate.
People sometimes still see me on our walks and whisper about my “strange” appearance, my eyes that don’t focus, my cautious steps. But it doesn’t matter now, because every time I feel the warmth of her hand, I’m reminded that beauty lies in the heart, in the gentleness of someone willing to see beyond the surface. I’ve learned to listen to the love in her voice and feel the warmth of her smile, even though I cannot see it.
So, when people call me deformed and ugly, I no longer feel sadness or shame. Instead, I feel grateful, for I know that I am loved—not for what I look like, but for who I am. And that is all the beauty I will ever need.
