Turning Thirty: Beauty Part 2

“So, if ever you feel less of yourself. I understand. If you ever feel self-hatred for yourself. I understand. If ever you feel low, dark, unappreciated, then know that I understand…for I have been there, walked barefooted and burning under the auspices of humiliation and almost-to-death attitude until I decided to live…”  -My dear friend, Bandy Mkhize

***

Beauty.

1) A concept or belief/Vague awareness or understanding/An impulse or desire/A combination of qualities that delights the aesthetic senses
2) The quality present in a thing or person that gives intense pleasure or deep satisfaction to the mind, whether arising from sensory manifestations (as shape, color, sound, etc.), a meaningful design or pattern, or something else (as a personality in which high spiritual qualities are manifest).

 ***

Beauty came to me late. Or rather I took it seriously pretty late in life. Partly because I only really realised I was pretty in my 20s and also because I grew up believing beauty was something that other people had. I wasn’t the pretty daughter so I figured I would just focus on other things, since I couldn’t change my looks. So I focused on my love for books and writing as well as working with my hands. (Side note: I also used to collect keys, had an obsession with insects and snakes and briefly had a pet chicken. Don’t ask.) It was one of the few creative things I was allowed to do. That and choosing what hairstyle to have next. (Hair texture had to be straight though.)

 
I became even more anti-beauty in my early teens because beauty was strongly tied to attracting boys. And I hated boys at that time. I found them immature and annoying. So I didn’t get why girls were putting in so much effort into looking good for idiots. Basically. Then there were the whole oh-but-you’re-so-pretty-and-have-a-nice-body-you-should-wear-clothes-that-accentuate-your-figure moments. Such an annoyance. I was highly self-conscious. I hated attention. I still do. Beauty drew attention so I didn’t want it. So I would brush off any compliment I got about my looks or my body.

 
Until I found beauty in my creativity.

 
Beauty became about self-expression as opposed to just adorning myself to attract a potential significant other. It became a way for me to express myself. It became creativity and came from within as well as from the outside. It also plays an important part of my relationship with my mom. It’s how we bond. (I gave her advice on her hair when she had to cut it off and ‘go natural’).

 
I found my first grey hair on the week of my birthday. And I freaked out because who starts greying in their twenties, right? I didn’t pull it out or anything. But I’ve dyed my hair twice since then so I probably wouldn’t be able to find it if I tried. All in all, I truly believe (and know) that the older I get, the more beautiful I become. And this applies to everyone as well. Anyone who is truly comfortable in their own skin and is able to fully be themselves is beautiful to me. Because if they believe it whole-heartedly, I have no choice but to also see it and believe it.

 
To quote Bandy once again,

“Beauty? Why don’t you go to the mirror right now and point, talking with the same passions you place on meaningless things and say “You are friggin’ awesome!” And smile. I mean what else shows more of your soul than your smile?”

beauty over coffee

And….

Some mornings you don’t wanna get out of bed, but you do. Other mornings, you’re just ok and occasionally you wake up happy. (but you don’t jump out of bed because you haven’t had your coffee and you believe the transition from the dream world to reality should be gradual and not sudden.)

And how you wonder -really wonder- if you are really doing and being your best self.

And how some new friends remind you of old friends that stabbed you in the back and so you’re hesitant every time you’re around them.

And that it hurts how the people that should be there for you aren’t. And that’s somehow ok.

And that you’d do anything to protect yourself and that you’ll sometimes appear irrational for doing so.

And that you are the person you said you wanted to be. Always have. Just that you got caught up in the details.

And how you’ve worked so hard, but there’s still so much more to be done.

And sometimes you’ve got so much love to give and other times ‘it don’t show up in the pavement cracks.’

And how you wish you’d kept quiet, but glad you spoke.

And how you don’t dance anymore ’cause life happened.

But those YouTube vids still give you life.

And how you still listen to The Cranberries and Phil Collins after all these years.

And it saddens you that you’ll never ever be able to see Phil Collins live.

But whenever you watch his final tour, it feels like you were also there in the crowd, waving your hands and singing along

And how the Blues carries you till you can walk again.

And that people tell you you’re talented and you wish they wouldn’t. ‘Cause one day you might believe them.

And yet they underestimate you because you keep so much of yourself well-hidden.