Some days I wear the color yellow. It never was my complimentary color, and the combination of my green irises and red hair adorned with yellow might remind someone of reggae-Bob Marley.

Though, the yellow bandana of a crown around my head makes me look eccentric, as well as the bright yellow tights under a black leotard on Tuesday night dance classes. And though my shirt portrays sunflowers, a personal favorite of mine, on a slender body; my eyes betray my state of mind to see a glob of mustard in the mirror.

And I love the look.

Ironically, though, I hate mustard. Much too bitter for my sensitive taste, tasting as rotten as it looks, squirting from its bottle in thick strings on a hot dog or combined with red ketchup, creating an orange like the autumn gourds with its putrid smell.

Mustard I am, however, because at one point not too long ago, I hated myself-not my taste, nor smell, but my looks, and a bitter aura. It was only a mild depression, that dissipated over the course of two years, just as the condiment on a moldy hamburger patty. It took me a while to acquire the taste for myself, to learn and ease myself out of self –disdain and into harmony of taste.

Growing up, just as I hated myself, and the yellow ray of spectrum, a new perspective crawled through the bars and enlightened my mind. Every upcoming day seemed just as bright as yellow. It isn't vain, as Carly Simon would put it, even though this passage is about me, because sometimes we need a little extra to enjoy life too, like the condiments on greasy fast food that will just go to your thighs anyways. I tried to help myself, and with a little bit of mustard, I succeeded and swallowed the large hamburger known as life.

So maybe I should give mustard another try too in literal terms and try to get past its bitter taste. And hey, even if I don't like it, ketchup is always another option.