The Curly Girl
I thought I could walk inside, but I couldn’t. The interior design of the restaurant blocked me from the unpredictable eyes of my old strangers. I didn’t know how they would react when they saw my curly hair again. There were many years that my name was non-researchable in the contact list, and I wasn’t sure that they wanted to see my curly hair again. If I needed to move my legs and walk inside the restaurant, I needed to make sure they could only see what they should see. They should only see my yellow face; the face that told them what the new policy of immigration was.