Ode to my moles

Ever since I was a kid, I've had lots of moles on my body and face. I once counted them and have no less than 37 raised bumps on my skin, most dark brown and a little hairier than the peach fuzz all around it. I had three moles that sat prominently on my face - one under my left eye, one on my right cheek, and the last one on that slice of cartilege between my nostrils, raised and protruding, the color of charcoal. I would fidget with it, enjoying the satisfying touch of running the tip of my finger over it, pinching and pulling at it in hopes that it got smaller.

When I was in elementary school, I would proudly point out how my moles formed a diagonal line on my face, like tic-tac-toe. I imagined them like constellations, connected across my face.

In middle school, people would think my mole was a booger. Austin Powers came out, and my classmates would say “moooooly moly moly” to me. I never watched the movie so I didn't really get the reference.

When I was a senior in high school, my mom took me to the back of a shop where a Vietnamese lady used a tool to remove some of the moles on my face. The small ones under my eye and on my cheek healed quickly. Each night, I squeezed the small tube of scar cream onto my finger and dabbed it into the scab on my nose, waiting patiently for it to fall off and imagining my face.

Finally, a clean slate. People were curious but kind about the absence of my moles. I had learned to take jokes about them in stride, but there’s a relief in not having to explain that this is my face, even if it's distracting to you.

But the universe works in funny ways. Within a few years, a moles regrew just under my right nostril. It was even bigger than before, and a bit misshapen. There are patches of it that were lighter than others. I had it checked by a doctor and nothing weird about it. Just a dark lumpy mole at the center of my face. I'm thankful that I have thick skin and good humor because I went on to work at a conbined middle school and high school, and some teenagers do not care about your feelings. But, I survived it once, and I survived it again.

I'm looking into getting the moles removed again, but now I'll actually check to see if it's connected to a vein, and figure out if insurance will pay for it (it won’t). I want to believe I'm a very different person than when I was 18. I just don't want to explain anymore.

The other day I saw a beautiful person on tiktok with a birth mark on their face. I wondered if anyone ever sees me that way.

A part of me will miss my little nubby mole. But I have 36 other moles, so there’s that.