by The Dreamer
My examinations are long over, and I feel like I have neglected this blog way too much, so i have decided to share snippets of what I write in my private physical diary. I basically pour out everything in there and write till there is this ache on my wrists, and when I see the ink starting to smudge, I stop. I never really look back on what I write, but writing in a diary makes me feel like my emotions are valid and really helps to calm me down. Here is a part of what I wrote in today’s entry (please do excuse the rusty, sub-standard writing. It is, of course, meant to be written for myself and seen by my eyes only, and in my haste to jot everything down, expressions and poetic value has been sadly neglected.)
Ramisa shared a written piece today on her blog that rendered me speechless after I had viewed the video that came along with it.
I cried a little bit watching this video, because it shed light on this dark corner of my consciousness that I had tried very desperately to bury deep within me. Social…media can be very cruel; pointing out insecurities that we don’t already know, and glorifying the certain (and only) body type that is socially acceptable to be defined as beautiful. For a very long time, in my head, Beautiful was a girl with pale skin that glowed a healthy pink from within, rosy apple cheeks but a sharp well-defined jaw line, thin but not gangly limbs. No acne, no cellulite, no stomach tyres, no loose double chins, no thighs that touch.
A month ago, social media became something so repulsive to me. The moment I logged into Instagram, friends posts comments on pictures that point out the subject’s legs or waist — while totally missing the point about how the individual had on such a radiant and natural smile, probably because she/he was enjoying themselves. I keep wondering, do these friends really zoom in on these physical appearances first– seemingly disembodying the subject instead of seeing her as a whole? I find myself having to validate my unglams with “Oh god, I look super ugly here but…” and it really disgusts me on why I should be sorry for my own face. I just have a general scorn towards even the smallest discussion of physical appearances when I’m around friends, making me unconsciously remember my own insecurities, unless it is to compliment each other.
In the video, there were comments like “Does she even wash her face?” and “She looks so ugly”, and it’s sad because I have received many related comments from friends and even close relatives just because I had red spots on my cheeks. Relatives that approach my mother and ask, “Is it a disease?” and even tell her, “Oh, your daughter USED to be so pretty? What happened?” God, it really makes me question whether maturity really grows proportionally to age.
Make-up has always my little confidence pill. I use it to make myself feel better. It’s NEVER to impress some random guy on the street. I used to even have trouble lifting my head in a crowd. I avoided Uniqlo like the plague even when I loved their apparel, because they had those disgustingly bright fluorescent lights and an over-abundance of mirrors. Oh my god. I get so pissed off whenever I meet up with my friends and the first thing they do is scrutinise my face with narrowed eyes and ask in a lowered skeptical voice, “Are you wearing EYELINER?” Yes. YES I AM WEARING EYELINER. It’s eyeliner SO ON POINT it will cut you in pieces if you ask that one more time. And then they proceed to ask “LOL, why are you even wearing makeup?”
Because. I . Like. To.
Because it makes me feel good about myself!
Because I like the way lipstick feels on my lips!
Why do I feel the need to validate myself every single time I wear makeup? Why do I need to feel conscious of what I wear because my friends always tell me that I “overdress”? Oh man, this is turning into a rant. Sorry diary for putting you through this. (A/N: Yes, I do speak to my diary like this.)
Now I got into a huge fight with my mother over getting braces. She told me I was being selfish to sacrifice the entire family’s fun (aka holiday expenses) just so I could look prettier and that I was being unnecessarily vain. She told me that I would have to afford it myself because she had already forked out so much money on my dermatologist treatments and because this was purely to enhance my beauty instead of dealing with something life-threatening. I’m tired of validating myself again. I don’t know how to feel. After the huge fight, my aunt tried to talk it out with my mother, saying that her words had hurt me and her tone was rude in the way she was ignoring my feelings and insecurities, which only made my mother even more furious.
I love my mother. I love my friends. I love my family. But in this constant battle against being conventionally beautiful, I sometimes wonder if I can truly be myself amongst them, and if I can truly accept who I am.
钧 x x
j e a n x x