Feeling as though I am not beautiful enough is akin to shrinking into a shadow. Every word I speak in conversation is a carefully calculated move, wondering if my uneven eyebrows or the etches on my skin are subject to the other person's private scrutiny.
It is ... being afraid of summertime, the dreaded foe, because I do not feel skinny enough to wear clothes designed for the heat. The fear of shopping because every piece of clothing I try on in the fitting room reveals the bits I hate. Recoiling at the idea of an upcoming event where I know every girl will wear a figure-hugging dress, while I settle for one my 8-year-old niece would wear. Accepting defeat through the presumption that love may be blind, but not initially because they have to look at me first. Gandering at actually beautiful girls, and pining for a day in their unblemished life. Wake up skinny, go to bed skinny. Effortless charm.
It feels like that until I stop to realise that I love the people closest to me not because of how they look, but because of them. The way they make me feel, all of their instrumental values and joyous idiosyncrasies. The little chip in my best friend’s front tooth, which they hide with their hands when they laugh, is what I find the most endearing thing that completes them. I do not care about the rolls in their stomach, or the pimples on their chin. I care that they are there, happy and whole, and they feel the same about me. Their love transcends through the body that carries me and lands, with two feet, on the person I am.
- Aurora Z.
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