I struggle, so often, with knowing who I am. I know my titles. I know my roles. But who I am, really, is a mystery to me. The biggest inner struggle I have, you see, is this enigmatic virtue of “pretty”.
I don’t feel that “pretty” ever applied to me, and it is something I have always rejected. I never wanted it. It is something I didn’t care to match to my outfit each morning along with my skirt and earrings. I also don’t bother with its sister, Beautiful, or any of their cousins. I have long ignored such things since I was 19, when I was told that “being pretty” was the reason something happened and made it my fault. Somehow I believed him and I’ve never had much time for Pretty since.
So where do I want go with Pretty? Well, I’m not so sure. Pretty and I have had issues over the years. I’m not sure if ours is a relationship that can reconcile. And yet, it’s not really Pretty’s fault. It was abused just as violently as I was that late afternoon. If Pretty had had a choice, it would have said no just as I had. So, really, I shouldn’t blame Pretty. Truthfully, I shouldn’t blame Beautiful either.
Secretly, I enjoy the beauty and splendor in other things and in other people. I love to breathe in the prettiness of the sky and hold in the joy of flowers. But me? No. Pretty and I have not been friends. We are the neighbors who cautiously wave at each other from our cars when we drive past each other. Awkward Pause is our mutual companion.
I’m not quite sure how to reconcile myself with Pretty. I would like to do so. I would like to look at myself in the mirror and, instead of just seeing a face on which to apply make-up, see Pretty there. I would like Pretty to be able to hold my hand without me pulling it away again.
Sitting there and looking pretty… is it even possible, I wonder? I have no idea.
And so, I’ve invited ‘too scary’ again. I will quickly hit “publish” before I decide against it.