Scorched Beneath His Clean Collar

For two agonizing months, I lived with a humiliation I couldn’t put into words.

Every single white shirt I washed, line-dried on our dorm balcony, and brought inside ended up reeking with a rancid, repulsive odor.

Classmates started keeping their distance. Girls wrinkled their noses when I walked past. Even my thesis advisor pulled me aside during office hours to gently drop hints about personal hygiene.

"Are you taking care of yourself, Micah? It’s just… there’s an odor."

Convinced something was deeply wrong with my body, I secretly visited three different clinics.