I sauntered into the flower shop a street across my apartment, welcomed by the ringing of chimes as I crossed the threshold. Almost immediately, I was greeted by the sweet scent of flowers which made me smile a little. As I scrutinized the display of flowers, I frowned upon their hierarchy.

          Who knew flowers had a hierarchy too? I chuckled bitterly.

          The prettier ones were roses, tulips, daisies and sunflowers – ones with the highest inventory turnover. They were displayed on the first row, outshining the other flowers with their beauty. I nodded inwardly, discerning the justification to their position. After all, they were entitled to be set at the front, stealing all the limelight.

          Deciding to go against the normalcy of picking up a rose, I glanced over them without a thought. As I have thought, the cacti were placed on the last row. What was I expecting? Let’s face it. For something us petty humans define as ugly, it has to be placed away from sight. Or even better, not putting it out at all.

          “Hi Miss,” the florist approached me. I mentally noted her increasing hostility upon scrutinising my appearance. I pressed my lips and brushed  it off for it was not the first. I have experienced worse. (“Look at that girl. Nice from far, far from nice.”)

          "Would you like to look at the flowers at the front? What is your favourite?”

          I shook my head politely, giving her a tight smile. “Cactus.”

          “Pardon?” She questioned, casting me a queer look.

          I sighed, brushing my thumb against the thorns of a cactus. “I like cacti.”

          As if I could foresee her reaction, I found no astonishment when she nodded her head with a puzzled look. She was probably questioning my normalcy, finding my taste extremely peculiar. Under her breath, she muttered, “What was I thinking? She would have a taste as ugly as her face.”

          Ugly.

          A word to describe someone, an object or just…me. It is something unpleasant to one’s sight, especially in appearance. It is also the opposite of pretty. It is a word none would wish to hear describing them.

          Then again, I was numb to it. I was accustomed to the unsightly looks of disgust. It is often ironic how there are endless quotes preaching about inner beauty, yet people contradict themselves and hold a higher regard for outer appearance.

          Let’s be real. The ugly one always loses.

          Who came up with the word? Who was the one who decided what is ugly, and what is not?

          What if one day, someone comes up to you and preach about ugly as the complete opposite of its definition? If he says, “I believe that one's perception speaks a lot. What if one day, society deems that flawless complexion, round eyes and full lips is ugly; but acne-ridden skin, small eyes and thin lips is not?”

          What would be the most sensible response?

          I did what I ought to do. I grabbed the nearest book I could see within my vision and hit him on the head without a tinge of stall. I rolled my eyes when I witness him whimper in pain, clutching his head in response.

          “That is nothing compared to how you would receive a punch on the streets for blurting out nonsensical scraps. What is with your philosophical theories out of the blue?" I asked, casting him a quizzical look.

          And there comes a pregnant silence between us where only the noise of chatters from the other customers resonated through the air. The both of us stared at each other, aware of what was going through our minds. I was aware of the sympathy in his eyes when I said I was ugly. He was aware that I knew the fact, thus trying to find words of comfort. Nonetheless, there wasn’t a need for me