Miss People’s Choice

By Laila Abdelle

It all started in 2021. I was set to graduate, and my dreams were finally beginning to take shape. I still remember the conversations with my peers, flowing with electric excitement, adrenaline practically pulsing through our veins. We were going to conquer the world and let nothing stop us. To quote Lena Dunham: “I don’t want to freak you out, but I think I may be the voice of my generation — or at least a voice of a generation.”

Looking back now, I realise that confidence only existed because this was before the rise of AI and before underemployment rates reached an all-time high. Back then, we were all convinced we were destined to become someone. Myself included.

I had always dreamed of joining a beauty pageant competition, though truthfully, I had no real understanding of what that world actually involved. Indian films were a huge part of my childhood. If you are a millennial Somali person, you probably know exactly what I mean. There was such a devotion to Bollywood in Somali households during the early 2000s, almost cult-like. Yet it felt magical, like belonging to a fantasy that offered a euphoric, dream-like escape from reality.

I am certain most Somali homes at the time had little girls wrapping colourful scarves into dresses, borrowing hooyo’s gold jewellery, while Shahrukh Khan songs played loudly in the background. We danced and sang along to the lyrics as though we were the heroines of the films ourselves.

This obsession with Indian cinema made my younger self want to become like the beautiful actresses I saw on screen. Many of them, funnily enough, were former beauty queens. I think that is where my dream of joining a beauty pageant truly began.

Fast forward to 2021, I was finally in one. The same year I was about to graduate.

To say it was a stressful couple of months would be an understatement. Nevertheless, I persevered.

During the week, my days were spent in libraries with cold coffee cups, headphones on, cramped in a corner surrounded by peers, trying not to get a headache from the fluorescent lighting. Meanwhile, anxiety was creeping in as I wondered whether I would finish my BA on time. Then Friday would come, and suddenly I was on trains to Copenhagen, curled over a compact mirror fixing my makeup before bootcamps, photoshoots, and rooms full of people who seemed important, and whom I was supposed to impress.

Somehow, by the grace of God, I managed to graduate and make it to the finals of Miss Denmark. I even won a title: Miss People’s Choice.

I knew, with the way the system was set up, that I probably was not going to make the top three. But I really wanted to win the title of Miss People’s Choice, which I did. I also managed to break the record for the number of votes I received.

So, to quote Lena Dunham again: “I don’t want to freak you out, but I think I may be the voice of my generation — or at least a voice of a generation.”

This quote honestly summed up my entire attitude towards graduating. But as they say, what goes up must come down and down it did.

Shortly after graduating, and I mean mere months later, I ended up in a women’s shelter because, at the time, I was unfortunately unsafe living where I was.

Honestly, staying at this women’s shelter was pretty tough.

There was this intense feeling of doom living in the shelter, this embarrassment and pity we all felt for one another. We would lurk around corners, trying to avoid each other when going to the kitchen or walking out the door. Sometimes we would slightly jump when we saw one another, only to feel relieved by the realisation that it was just one of us.

It’s funny, in the hallways, we would half-smile and nod at each other, but something almost magical would happen when we met in the smoking area.

Yes, I know. A disgusting habit. I am trying to quit.

The smoking area was where our sense of camaraderie truly appeared. We would sit on the bench and slowly let our masks fall. We opened up about what we were going through, the struggles that brought us there, and how different our lives had become. A laugh or two was also shared in that strange little sanctuary, but once we stepped back inside the shelter, it was back to half-smiles and nodding.

Maybe it was because of the social workers. I do not say this to suggest they were mean, quite the opposite. These women were incredible, empathetic, and courageous. But the truth is, they would sometimes stop you in the hallway and ask intimate questions while others were present, which could feel slightly embarrassing. Other times, with good intentions, they would organise group activities in an attempt to raise morale and encourage friendships. Still, it all felt slightly forced, which is why I think the smoking area became such a safe haven for us women.

It became a space where we did not have to perform or constantly live inside our trauma.

A lot happened from that time leading up to now. Maybe one day I will have the courage to write about it.

I reconciled with my family, if you can even call it that. “I came back” is probably the best way to phrase it.

Something changed in me after experiencing that level of sadness. I was no longer the confident person I had been in my early twenties. I no longer believed I was “a voice of a generation.” Instead, I became quiet and insecure. The light that once existed in my eyes slowly faded. I stopped feeling human and began to feel more like a floating camera, simply observing everyone else.

I stopped caring about my appearance. I stopped caring about connecting with others. During that period, all I wanted was to make myself as small as possible. And I was succeeding.

I am writing this to say: please do not give up on yourself.

If there are abusive people in your life, do not let them make you forget who you are. It took me years after graduating to realise that I had given those people far too much power, an invisible kind of power that did not truly exist to them, only to me.

I used to love working out, doing my hair, getting extensions here and there, doing my nails and lashes, and wearing my best outfits. You name it, I was doing it. But I let them rob me of that joy, and I am writing this for anyone who may resonate with it: do not let other people rob you of yourself.

After making this realisation, I slowly began finding my way back to myself. I started working out again, learning new skills to better myself, and forming new hobbies simply to bring myself joy. I bought new extensions, created a small curated everyday makeup bag, and started investing in clothes that reflected my personal style.

A lot of my time now is spent reflecting on who I am and who I want to become. And I hope whoever needs to read this understands that it is okay to rest in who you are. If life has stripped pieces of you away, that is okay too. You can rebuild yourself. You can put yourself back together again.

With love always,

Laila💋