On May 11, 2013, I did not feel beautiful. This was the day of my Senior Prom. Although I made my nails look perfect the night before and spent nearly two hours getting my hair done in a curled up-do with fake flowers, I did not feel beautiful. I donned my gown and heels and took a look in the mirror. My face, free of blemishes, still did not look beautiful. My hair, pinned to perfection, did not look beautiful. My gown, which flattered my imperfect body, did not make me feel beautiful, neither did the corsage on my wrist nor the heels on my feet.
I was not told that I looked beautiful by anyone. I could not even say it to myself. I did not feel beautiful. The more I look back on events such as my Senior prom, I realize what beauty is. I was supposed to feel beautiful because I "looked beautiful". Every girl looks beautiful at Prom, right?
I discovered on that day that beauty is so much more than what is seen on the outside. While we all try to embrace that ideology and accept this as truth, most of us are completely unable to separate inner beauty from outward beauty.
I will say this: my inability to feel beautiful that day was not due to my inability to feel beautiful in general. I realized this fact last Friday night, nearly a year after the night of my Prom.
I spent nearly an hour preparing to go out to a party with a few of my friends. I put on an outfit that made me feel confident and my roommate did my makeup in a way that was subtle, yet alluring. I spent this time and prepared for the festivities happening at a party in my building, but my mind was changed.
I walked down the stairs of my suite into one of my roommate's rooms to talk before going out with my other friends. There I found her and two of her other friends, one old and one new. The latter caught my attention as I found him interesting and entertaining, and because of this, I decided to stay behind. I realized that I did not want to go to a party where I would be surrounded by strangers. I would much rather stay with this group, wear some more comfortable clothes, and have a quiet night in my own suite.
This small group of us talked, laughed, and connected. I felt the love of friendship and the caress of shared emotion embracing me. Soon, our conversations turned into a pillow fight. Slowly between two, then collectively among the four of us. I was laughing, smiling, and having the time of my life.
In that moment I felt beautiful. I was wearing yoga pants and an old sweatshirt from high school. My hair became a mess and I had fuzzy socks on. I was not beautiful on the outside, but for some strange reason, I felt it on the outside.
I was smiling like I hadn't smiled in a long time. I certainly did not feel this joy at Prom. This happiness is what translated into my feeling of beauty. I feel beautiful when I have a genuine smile on my face. This was the first time I had felt beautiful in a very long time.
Beauty comes from the inside. I always felt that this was the case, as I see outward beauty as being of little or no importance. I have always had this belief, but this was the first time I experienced living up to this value. I felt so beautiful in that moment because I was expressing happiness. My cheeks were raised to my squinting eyes and my mouth slightly opened as I revealed a toothy grin. In that moment of a pillow fight with friends, I felt beauty.
Beauty is not something on the outside. We can spend money on Prom dresses or spend time having our faces and hair made to look "beautiful", but that will never equate true beauty. True beauty is an emotion, not a label. I felt beautiful in a pillow fight, not in a gown. I will always feel more beautiful when I am smiling with friends than when I am "beautiful" on the outside.
Monday, March 31, 2014
Sunday, March 16, 2014
On Writing Fiction: My Lifelong Mission
In 2008, I completed my first short story that I was actually somewhat proud of. Unfortunately, shortly after completing it, I destroyed it. As a young seventh grade twelve year old, I was very afraid of what people might think of my writing. I wrote a story about superheros, a juvenile but fun subject. I cannot remember what the main character's name was, but I do remember she had the power to control water. She had a psychic sister and the duo went to a school that taught them to use their superpowers in the best way possible. In the end, she and her classmates worked to save Times Square from dark forces that could only be stopped by their superpowers. I worked very hard to come up with the characters and the plot and when I was inspired, I wrote. I loved it.
Flash forward to 2010. I tried to harness the power of the pen and write fiction again. I decided I would try to start NaNoWriMo, also known as National Novel Writing Month. It is an insane writing challenge that occurs every November where participants write fifty thousand words (an entire novel) in just thirty days. I imagined a character and attempted to write about her. Her name was Ginger and she had red hair and she was an outcast like my superhero with water powers. I abandoned this project after less than a week and very few pages.
Flash forward again to 2014. I am trying yet again to write fiction. Unfortunately, I have such a hard time coming up with stories because all my characters end up the same. They are outcasts that are introverted and very different from their peers. They are all stuck in worlds that do not understand them. Moreover, they are cursed with a creator that abandons them in these unwelcoming, fictional worlds.
This author, confused by the world around her, tries to reflect her views of it through her writing. She attempts to recreate the world as she sees by putting these views into the first-person narratives she writes. She sometimes gives them superpowers and other times she only gifts them with red hair. Other times they remain nameless and are only featured in a simple paragraph that is eventually scrapped.
The only qualities that these characters have in common are that they are misunderstood and that their author quickly leaves them behind, moving onto different writing, whether it is academic, self-reflective, or in the form of meaningless tweets.
I have these ideas for characters that are based loosely on my life. These characters are introverted outcasts. Creative types with the dream to be understood, they are stuck in worlds where nobody understands them. Neither the fictional world around them nor their reckless creator is able to give them the attention that they deserve.
So I as a writer promise myself and these abandoned characters that I will one day complete a finished fictional piece. It will have an outcast character that is not understood, whether it is the main character or not, because it is the least my fictional muse babies deserve. One day I will do it for you, you beautiful creations that have emerged forth from my wild mind.
Flash forward to 2010. I tried to harness the power of the pen and write fiction again. I decided I would try to start NaNoWriMo, also known as National Novel Writing Month. It is an insane writing challenge that occurs every November where participants write fifty thousand words (an entire novel) in just thirty days. I imagined a character and attempted to write about her. Her name was Ginger and she had red hair and she was an outcast like my superhero with water powers. I abandoned this project after less than a week and very few pages.
Flash forward again to 2014. I am trying yet again to write fiction. Unfortunately, I have such a hard time coming up with stories because all my characters end up the same. They are outcasts that are introverted and very different from their peers. They are all stuck in worlds that do not understand them. Moreover, they are cursed with a creator that abandons them in these unwelcoming, fictional worlds.
This author, confused by the world around her, tries to reflect her views of it through her writing. She attempts to recreate the world as she sees by putting these views into the first-person narratives she writes. She sometimes gives them superpowers and other times she only gifts them with red hair. Other times they remain nameless and are only featured in a simple paragraph that is eventually scrapped.
The only qualities that these characters have in common are that they are misunderstood and that their author quickly leaves them behind, moving onto different writing, whether it is academic, self-reflective, or in the form of meaningless tweets.
I have these ideas for characters that are based loosely on my life. These characters are introverted outcasts. Creative types with the dream to be understood, they are stuck in worlds where nobody understands them. Neither the fictional world around them nor their reckless creator is able to give them the attention that they deserve.
So I as a writer promise myself and these abandoned characters that I will one day complete a finished fictional piece. It will have an outcast character that is not understood, whether it is the main character or not, because it is the least my fictional muse babies deserve. One day I will do it for you, you beautiful creations that have emerged forth from my wild mind.
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