Self-beauty Sometimes, when I lie on my back alone in my room on the rug that prickles my skin, staring at the light blue ceiling. Sometimes, when I lie in bed, the moonlight streaks through the window. Sometimes, when my mind wanders…I’m fearless and flawless. And sometimes, at these dreamy times, I am not an eighteen-year-old prom freak standing in the middle of my floor, facing my mirror, and whispering to myself about how pretty I look. I am not spending thirty tiring minutes shaping one frizzed curl with half a bottle of mouse spray or obsessing over which shade eveshadow matches my outfit.

I am not, as my ex-boyfriend used to say, “acting like a girl. ” Instead, I am listening to loud music and running all over the place with my tangled reddish brown hair, bouncing up and down as I remove all negative doubts about myself from my mind. I believe beauty is something natural and not to be proved. I am effortlessly and naturally beautiful. I am—“Don’t forget to pluck the hair between your eyebrows,” my mom’s irritating voice that panics me. “Mom, pl-ea-se stop. I do not need you telling me what to do. ” I raise my voice in hope that her motherly concerns and rattle away.

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As I continue singing, I apply scented cucumber lotion and get carried away with excitement. “I’m going to have fun tonight,” I tell my furry dog, Roxy. His eyes seem as excited as mine. However, as I slip into my polka dot dress, turning sideways and forward infront of the mirror above my dresser, I hunt for flaws, but my dress, ends up being a perfect fit on me. I am feeling satisfied while I brush my hand on the velvety cloth. Yet just when my rollers are about to open up, my mum’s screaming from the bottom of the stairs. Nicole, did you remember to put mints in your purse? ” I don’t respond. Leave me alone, leave me alone, leave me alone. “Nicole, did you.. “Yes, mother I put the mints. ”

Being sarcastic while I carefully walk down the unequal steps in my black heels. Well, I wouldn’t call them heels as such as I didn’t want to look taller than my date. “You look gorgeous,” my mom breathes as I approach the last step. This is when I feel I am not ignored and that I actually am really pretty. I recognize her sincere love. She is impossible to stay angry at for an extended amount of time.

I ask a mental prayer of forgiveness (she never deserves to be a victim of my frustrations. My younger brother walks by us wearing his silver bracelet, shining as he flips a coat over his shoulders. I spent ten minutes trying to pin a broche on my dress. As I was in Senior year I didn’t want to trouble mum about it. “Wait, does it go on the left or the right? ” I ask. Again just back to the normal Nicole. I poked myself with it however after a few seconds the task is completed, and I feel prepared for anything. The doorbell rings. Well, maybe not everything. Okay, Lord.

Please don’t let my cheeks look like two ripe tomatoes, don’t let my voice sound like its going to crack soon , don’t let…“Oh, hi, Samantha, Mark. Come on in. Matt’s not here yet. ” Mark runs through the kitchen door, stepping on a bag of lays while Samantha’s bright pink metallic dress shines in the yellow light as they enter. Immediately, my grandma, aunts, and siblings start clicking and flashing their cameras while the three of us pose with awkward smiles. Its 6:15pm! “Where’s Matt? ” “Matt’s here,” my dad screams from the other room. “He’s walking down the street.

Looks like he had to park a few houses down. ” It had snowed in yesterday. All of a sudden I begin to fiddle with my rolled up hair and dress as I approach the door. As I open the door, I avoid Matt’s dark sea blue eyes, afraid mine will link with his and make the both of us feel in a somewhat awkward position. But I understand his smile. “You look amazing, I think. ”, I comment. The kitchen is awkwardly silent while 14 pairs of eyes watch Matt slide my beautiful ring as I try not to stare at his trembling hands. Pictures and many more pictures,I don’t relax until we enter mark’s blue BMW.

We squash in as Samantha takes out her camera. “get together you two- this is how I take pictures”, boasting that she took a course related to photography a year back. I notice that despite Samantha’s elegant looking hair and being seated in a fancy car, she appears to be very envious about me. She didn’t like the fact that I dressed up today. I glance at Matt. He looks into my eyes and its my Cinderella fantasy that dissolves. I no longer feeling like I am not pretty, Matt appreciates me and likes me for who I am. Samantha’s still living in her Cinderella fantasy at this point.

In this moment, I may not seem as cool as Samantha. In the moments to come, darkness may come and my eye-shadow and “Mac” foundation may fade like lifeless clowns booed out of the circus ring. In the moments to come, I may not sing as good as Selena Gomez. No, in this moment, I am still an eighteen-year-old brat. Although my fantasies of beauty may sometimes threaten my happiness, I know who I am. I do not need to prove myself by acting like a fake version of myself. And when the birds chirp early morning, I feel their whisper. I am beautiful.

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