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It had passed down to my older sister, who started wearing a bra at age ten, and was deemed a prized beauty.I, in contrast, was given the part of a small boy in our high school production of “Our Town.” I was medically underweight and undersized.Her new income enabled her to take the children out of the orphanage and send them back to their native Moldova, where they now live with their grandmother.Ana’s mother Iuana now raises her daughter’s three children.A woman returns from work on the outskirts of Chisinau.One-fourth of Moldova’s working-age population has left the country to work abroad.In a middle-school typing class, a boy I had a crush on, with green eyes and pale skin, once pounded on the side of his machine and said, “You’re as flat as this computer.” My crush soon faded. I had a hard time understanding what all the fuss was about. I had already started wearing long sleeves in middle school, and had covered my legs since fifth grade.
If I was to inherit the family history of diabetes, surely it would come along with a nice pair of double Ds.I was so used to pinning the same black hijab tightly around my neck every morning, that I was surprised when a guy once asked, “Why do you wear it like a noose?” I distanced myself from the idea of being attractive or having a body that was perceived that way. Instead, I became a brain with two brown eyes that happened to be attached to a pair of skinny legs.We were there to experience a ritual, born in the seventh century, of washing and purifying one’s skin.Up above the glass door was a giant gray, faded dome, made of huge chunks of stone. ” I asked her, as we navigated down a wide staircase with no signs.