I hate my lunch break. Everyone else talks about food. What they gonna eat. What they making for dinner. I just go to the ladies room. Not even to use it. Just to be alone. Pull out my little bag. All the makeup. Foundation, powder, that stuff you put under your eyes. Eyeshadow. Lipstick. All of it. My face feels like… naked. Like everyone can see every little spot. Every wrinkle. I work at the big store. Selling fancy clothes. Gotta look good right? Professional. My mom always says "look sharp". For the customers. For the boss. For myself. But it’s not for me. It’s for them. My face gets red sometimes. Or a little bump. Doesn’t matter how small. I see it. And then I think everyone else sees it too. So I sit there. In the stall. Or by the mirror if no one else is there. Putting it all on again. So careful. Making sure it’s perfect. Like I’m getting ready for a wedding, not just to sell another sweater. My whole lunch break. Gone. Every single day. I eat a protein bar while I’m doing it. Or nothing. Sometimes I just drink water. My stomach rumbles. But I can't leave. Not until it’s all perfect again. I remember my auntie, she always wore a full face. Even to the market. "Presentation is everything, Mariam," she’d say. My kids, they laugh. "Mom, you look fine," they say. They don't get it. They never had to try so hard. To fit in. To not stand out in the wrong way. My boss, she walks by. "Ready to go, Mariam?" she says. And I nod. Smile. Like I just had a relaxing break. My face stiff from all the layers. It’s heavy. Like a mask. Sometimes I just wanna wash it all off. Just once. See what happens. But then I think of the looks. The whispers. Better not. Better to just keep putting it on. Again. And again.