A Painted Face
By J. Faith Malicdem // May 8, 2019
I think everyone grows up with a derived hatred of how they look. Or maybe just an unsatisfied regard to how they look. It's hard to repress such thoughts when it's human nature to take on misperceived beauty standards, then compare ourselves to them. I've heard a multitude of euphemisms (that's the extent of my AP Lit exam study session) in relation to me specifically; how I look, how tall I am, my ethnicity-- the list goes on. Whenever I tell my friends this, they apologize on society's behalf, even though it's not their responsibility.
To some, I may look too young for their taste. Maybe too short? Too tiresome. Too innocent! Too pompous.
Sometimes (to be frank, most times), I wonder what it's like to be conventionally attractive, and what it's like to tower over people rather than seemingly cower in their presence. What it's like to have lighter hair and lighter skin, and freckles that aren't "fake." I do believe I am beautiful to an extent, but to which extent? What about me makes me beautiful, and do I really believe it? Or have I just been fed artificial compliments in my Instagram comment section?
One thing I've grown to learn is how increasingly distinct our hearts and personalities become as we mature. And I have Faif (lol) that the bubbliness, beauty, and baboonery in my heart will shine through. I am content with how intricate and sentimental my heart is, and that's all I really ever focus on whenever I feel like I don't compensate on the outside. The bubliness and the baboonery and the beauty all coincide in creating the radiance that reflects in my energy and on my face, and I couldn't be more grateful for it. ~ "Beauty is the illumination of your Soul" -- John O'Donohue