As I sparked the lighter and swept the flame over my bowl, I took in more than just a cloud of smoke. I took in the clear night sky, the warm air around me, the large expanse of grass that stretched to form my school's track, the comforting presence of my two best friends, the conspicuous sense of tranquility that seemed unfitting during a time of such global unrest.

And for some reason, I thought back to high school. When I was too skinny. Too pale. Had weird eyebrows. An ugly nose. I was unattractive. I knew that if anyone was foolish enough to date me, it would be because of my personality, not my looks. Because my face was so hideous, I vowed to hit the gym everyday once I graduated high school so that I'd at least have a hot body to fall back on. I looked in the mirror often, and always with disgust. Any reflective surface would do, actually -- just as long as I was able to catch a glimpse of myself and have time to think, 'You are ugly.' I went to bed each night wishing I was someone else: Ryan, the buff, tan, impossibly handsome soccer player. Matt, the buff, tan, impossibly handsome wrestler. Brian, the buff, tan, impossibly handsome track athlete. They all had girlfriends. And a lot of friends. And the ability to make me feel like a helpless loser. All I had was good grades. And a self-esteem complex. That, too.

When I finally exhaled, I watched the smoke dissipate along with all the hateful thoughts that still threaten me to this day. And somehow, it was the single most beautiful moment of my entire life.