This body, where I, live is my favorite place. Today I accept it and I don’t wish another, but it wasn’t always like this.
Since I was born my big eyes were always the focus of attention. Impossible not to notice them. When I was fifteen, I discovered black eyeliner and painted the lower eyelid every day, for 11 years.
I remember everything they have called me: red fish, sloth, olive eyes, Dori and the bulging eyes. These offensive remarks have led me to contemplate the ground, when someone insists on visual contact.
My hair has a life of its own. It isn’t straight or curly, it’s whatever it wants. It’s dark, bulky, takes up half of my face and bursts all the scrunchies. Doesn’t accept brushing or washing with cheap shampoos. Let it dry naturally, without products to define it, is also not an option. Since I never understood it, I did whatever I want with it. I dyed it pink, purple, blonde, red and black. I put hair extensions, blue and with sparkles. I also did a perm, looking like a poodle, and cut it in all sorts of shapes.
My feet very much resemble the feet of a Hobbit. Not because they’re hairy, I wax them, but because they’re chubby and small. The second toe wins the award of the highest finger, clearly standing out from the rest of the crowd. For several years I didn’t paint my toenails to not draw attention to them.
I’m short and in the summer I tan so easily, that I give the idea of belonging to another family that’s not mine. My teeth are white and perfectly straight, but once someone said I had bad breath and I’m embarrassed when people talk to close. I don’t know if he meant occasional or frequent bad breath, but it was enough. My upper gum is lowered and exaggerated, when I laugh you see more pink than white. Which leads me to cover my mouth with my hands when I laugh hard.
My arms are thin and decorated with hair. Recently, someone advised me to wax them, because they didn’t look feminine. And so I did, I took off that part of me that it was there for 27 years.
I wish I had bigger boobs, but today it’s irrelevant. I also wish I had no acne. The pimples burst me every month, every year and forever. Expensive, inexpensive, home-grown and clinically proven products did not work. I’m sure fifty years, I’m going to blow a pimple in the middle of my forehead. In celebration of still being alive. Let it be.
Everything is different today.
One day, someone kissed me early in the morning, I praised the untrimmed eyes, wild hair and “Egyptian” feet. One day someone held my hand when trying to hide my smile. One day someone told me she was beautiful, anyway. Still, it was not the same as believed, did not seek the approval of others anymore.
It was when I felt deep sadness, sitting on the cold floor crying, that my mind changed. The push-up bra bothered, the black eyeliner ran down to my nose, my hair was too tight, my arms were waxed, my toenails were colorless and my smile was dead. I looked in the mirror and didn’t see myself. On that day, I solved the conflict between me and my body. I embraced my characteristics, what makes me different, what gives me shape and accompanies me since I opened my eyes. Before even. My mold was built long before my thoughts. Today, my body is a temple. It is the reflection of my love, of what I eat, drink, think and choose. And dammit … I’m so much happier!
I didn’t know that my lips could stretch more, that my smile could be larger than it ever was. That my eyes would be bigger, full of desire to see beyond the prejudice and ignorance of others. That my hairy arms would embrace anyone without shame or embarrassment. My hair still does what it wants, it’s an extension of my personality. I haven’t yet deciphered the role of my pimples, but damn it, they are part of me.
Today, I’m the one who loves me the most.
Today, I accept myself as I am and you as you are.
What about you?
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