I stand here amongst those who have seen me at my worst and wonder, ‘would they forget me if I moved to places and lost touch? Would they love me for whoever I become? Would they stand by me even then? Would I be able to meet them again? Would I be able to relive these moments? Would they value me?’.
Why have we defined beauty in a destructive way?
A little kid taught me something very important. Love yourself and value who you are because it doesn’t matter what others say. What you think about yourself matters. This truth, that I’ve known, has hit me hard when I saw it in reality.
We may not like the negative aspects of our personality (like jealousy) and we try to change it, which is understandable. What about aspect like looks? Why do we let someone else’s opinion of us bring us down?
Let me admit something. I’ve had those moments as a kid when I would wonder what makes me unlike others, why I don’t have the looks that would make me ‘normal’. Why? I don’t remember well. I think a huge part of me didn’t know and still doesn’t know how to figure out if someone has good looks and the other part of me used to judge myself. It’s a paradox! Like everything in life, time worked and I’ve realised I don’t get much affected by what others say unless it resonates with what I think about myself.
We don’t realise this, but everyone has their own set of insecurities. Some maybe conventionally beautiful and still judge themselves.
Being fair doesn’t make anyone lovely. Or handsome. Same goes for being dark. It’s how you perceive yourself and others that makes you beautiful.
Months back when I still had ileostomy (is it the first time I’m talking about this?) and I was underweight, I’d look in the mirror and like who I was seeing. I was proud of being that girl I saw. In the initial days, I couldn’t recognise myself because a lot looked too unnatural.
Weak, perplexed, and figuring out things in my head, I liked the person staring back at me. I saw something beyond explanation that made me realise it’s stupid to not love who you are.
I have scars. There is a reason why I have always been against getting rid of them. It’s really simple. My scars remind me of stories. They’re stories of not just how I got them, but also of everything that happened around that time. They tell me about the place, people, myself. They remind me that I had some people who held my hand when I needed to walk. They remind me of my own internal struggles. They remind me of places that have been hurtful. They don’t own me. I own them. My scars are my rewards. They remind me of everything I’ve learned because of them.
The reason I mentioned my scars is because we’re all so immersed in getting rid of them that we forget how valuable they are. They’re beautiful. We want to look so perfect that we forget how beautiful we are naturally.
Beauty isn’t about looks. It’s about how you feel.
Next time, when you look at yourself, make sure to see the beauty in you.
You are truly the most beautiful version of yourself.