An Explanation and an Epiphany

For the past decade or so, I have never been really comfortable in my skin. In sixth and seventh grades, I was verbally eviscerated and sexually harassed on a daily basis by my peers, and even some of my friends. I was made to feel absolutely TERRIBLE about myself: my hair, my skinniness, my butt, my chest, my face, my teeth, my clothes etc.

I was tripped. I was mocked. I was told that I would never get a boyfriend or a husband because I was too ugly. I was told that I should go on "The Swan" to get plastic surgery. When I told people I wanted to be a director, I was told that was a good idea because "most directors are ugly anyway." Once, someone was talking about those spam letters you get in the mail asking you to audition to be a model and I made the mistake of piping up saying I had gotten one of those and the whole class laughed. One boy always called me "Synthetic" because he said my hair looked like bad weave. I remember mornings where I cried as I began frantically flinging out every article of clothing in my dresser, desperate for something that would deliver me from the teasing.

Yup. Funny how that stuff kind of sticks with you. Sticks and stones my ass, right?

So, basically I was made to hate my appearance on every plane. Heaven only knows how long that would have continued, if my grandfather (God bless and rest him.) hadn't for my 13th birthday given me a shopping spree and the ability to get a whole new wardrobe. Whereas before I wore nothing but super-XL baggy tees and shapeless pants and sports bras, I could now wear the tight jeans and name-brand shoes of my peers. I learned the wonders that a padded bra can perform. I still had glasses, huge hair, and a large gap in my teeth, and a flat chest, but now I dressed "cooler."

I had upgraded from 7th grade scapegoat to passable, if invisible. The teasing nearly ceased after that. I got braces to close the gap in my teeth that year and by 8th grade it was completely gone.

In the past 10 years, it has been a slow and steady progression of me making myself become more "pretty." My teeth are straight. I learned to use a flat iron. I got contacts. After I turned 16 and was allowed to use make-up, I learned to use eyeliner and eyeshadow to distract from my natural dark circles.

In short, I learned the rules of prettiness, and the world became much more kind to me. Sometimes strangers and acquaintances tell me I have pretty hair or great skin. I get "hollered at" by random Black guys once in a while. Occasionally, a guy will like me now. One of the boys who made my life hell in seventh grade once remarked to a friend of mine that he thought I was beautiful. I should be happy. I should be effing vindicated. This is what the magazines tell me is the best thing a woman can hope for- to be young and tall and skinny and tan with clear skin.

 But I most confess, as pathetic as it sounds, I am still haunted by the tauntings of that year and a half. I can't look at pictures of myself from when I was older than 7. All I do is criticize my smile or my hair and wish I could retouch them all. I'm often a few minutes late to things because I feel my face is too plain without some sort of make-up.

And worse, I've become vain over the years. I compulsively stare at myself in reflective surfaces. When I think about the fact that this is probably the prettiest I will ever be in the whole course of my life, I get depressed. I'm not an idiot, I know any prettiness that I have is only temporary, "on loan," as it were. I fought so hard to get to a place where I can look in a mirror and like what I see and not feel ashamed and plain when I see attractive women on the street. But will I feel that way when I'm 25? 30? 40?

I think my insecurities show that I never healed completely from the wounds inflicted on me as a preteen, that my confidence is still very much conditional, but it shouldn't be. What I think God is trying to teach me is that I am not beautiful because my culture tells me so. I am not beautiful because the people I love tell me so. Any beauty I have comes solely from the God who molded my shape and colored in my features. I am beautiful because HE says I am. HE says I am wonderfully and fearfully made, and therefore I am, not because Seventeen says so.

I don't think beauty was ever meant to be contingent on anything, I think that's just another one of evil's Great Lies meant to get us to destroy ourselves. I think that because we are all offspring of the Great imagination that created auroras and sunsets and stars and oceans and peacocks and dolphins and roses and sapphires and willow trees and butterflies, we are on par with such things, as well as with each other. I'm going to go out on a limb here and speculate that God thinks that you, yes I mean YOU, are just as beautiful as Beyonce or as a sunrise. We are all unfathomably beautiful and unique works of art and I think it's deeply wrong to convince anyone otherwise. You are not only doing damage to someone's self-esteem, but you are also insulting God's artwork.

Mi destino es andar, Voy de paso por esto mundo fugaz

Title translation: My destiny is walking...I'm passing through this fleeting world.

Ever since I have gotten back to the States from Asia, all I've been able to think about is traveling. I came away from SEAS suddenly awakened to how beautiful this world is, and marveling at how blessed I am to not only be a part of it, but to be able to witness so much of it. When you turn on the news and all you hear about the world outside your backdoor is political strife, genocide, famine, and bombings, it's really, really easy to forget that places like these exist:

 This intense desire to roam the world and see and touch and listen and taste everything has sort of consumed me. I think the Taj Mahal is the most to blame for this, and to this day I'm not sure why.

 It's a TOMB, for crying out loud. DEAD PEOPLE (or what remains of them after 500 years or so) are inside, which should make the fact that millions of people wander around inside and take photos kind of weird and creepy. But when you are there, none of that matters. You see the nearly immaculate white marble against a turquoise sky and you just want to cry. Touching the stones, you can still feel Shah Jahan's love and passion for his (then newly-deceased) wife. Knowing that Love built this structure instead of Ambition or Greed makes it infinitely more beautiful. You literally just want to stand there and to thank God that you are alive and have retinas to witness something so magnificent.

Ever since last summer, I knew that  I was determined to see and experience more of what this great, big world had to offer. (Hopefully starting with London next spring!)  I realized that I didn't want to spend my life rooted down in one place for all of my days. I mean, obviously, I would like to have a place where I can receive my mail and put my stanky feet wheresoever my heart desires and all of that, but I don't want to spend all of my life there. I really hope that travel is somehow a part of my destiny. 

Oh, by the way, the title of this post comes from this song, "Gitana" or ("Gypsy") by Shakira. The song is in Spanish and the video is a bit PG-13, as a heads up, but it's one of my favorite songs so you should give it a listen.

Or the (less impressive) English version for those of you who don't speak Spanish.

Hello My Lovelies!


You seem to have stumbled upon my brand-spanking-new, so-fresh-it'll-make-you-smack-yo-mama blog! 


So, I guess this post will have to serve as a brief preface for the many ramblings, meditations, and who-knows-what-else that I will arbitrarily put here for your reading/viewing pleasure. I  should probably warn you all in advance that there won't be much of an over-arching theme for the content of this blog, other than it will be collection of random things I just feel the need to share with the world--or, rather, all three of you darling people that will probably read this.


I prefer to think of this blog as a  guided tour to the highlights of my mind and imagination. 
Welcome, courageous travelers.

(I promise that this whole blog won't be as utterly pretentious as that last paragraph.)