At sixteen, I realized that I was not beautiful. Beauty was fairness.
Beauty was a clear skin.
Beauty was the perfect hair.
Beauty was slim body.
And I qualified in none.
With time , I convinced myself beauty wasn’t important, important enough to occupy my mind. It was subjective, it was temporary and it could be easily altered. Like my brother often said that there are no absolutes, beauty was no exception. But though I left the concept of modern day beauty far behind me, it seems to be trying to catch up to me ever since.
At the age of around eighteen or nineteen, one of my classmate proposed me. Amongst other typical compliments he showered me with, he said me that I was beautiful. That he loved the way my straight hair fell into place. And also that he couldn’t stop thinking about me. I was unsure about what he was saying back then, flattered by all the good things I hardly get to hear. In the few moments of my fantasy where I was some kind of a soon-to-be movie star, I reverted myself back to reality. He barely knew me, I don’t remember talking to him besides casual talks. He knows nothing about my personality, my nature, my likes or dislikes. This wasn’t love. And neither was it a movie show where you see the girl, the one-meant-to-be and fall for her as she crosses the road beautifully with nice makeup, a good attire and a smiling face.
I don’t quite remember what I said to him back then. All I remember is that the next day, I showed up with a messy hair.
I read a quote last week on the internet saying, “we see ourselves 20% more beautiful and attractive than we actually are.” Until that fine-day-turned-into-a-nightmare, I never knew that beauty and attractiveness was calculable in percentage. Since then I have often wondered how much percentage would I get? Hah! I would probably ask that to my mother. Because another one of the quote read, “No matter how ugly you are, your mother always thinks that you are the most beautiful.” As I look into the mirror now and then, I always need to make myself remember the fact that I am far less than the image I see in the mirror. Now, Isn’t that sad?