January 18, 2018




After spending 3-4 hours doing my hair, applying make up, looking at my skin pores on a magnifying mirror and shaking my head in disapproval, dressing and undressing several times in search of the right cocktail dress, shoes and accessories for my last night's Dinner date at The Ritz Club, it got me thinking. 

Not particularly something I like admitting, but perhaps it is my behaviour I should look under the microscope, not my skin. 

 One of my favourite people always says that sometimes I even believe my own propaganda.

He means it as a joke, but there is much truth in those words as I often catch myself doubting my very own advocacy. Same as how I confidently spread my love for originality and uniqueness. But do I really mean it, or is it only valid for the non-trivial objects I aim to own and admire? Why am I seeking and loving so endlessly something, I do in fact possess in abundance? 

My individuality and character, body shape and face, flaws and imperfections, mistakes and failures - they are all unique. And yet, the more I look at myself the more I fail to give recognition to my uniqueness. Sometimes, it even happens that I hate it. Turns out, I more than often mimic others, especially the ones who are pronounced 'special' by society. 

I imitate, I follow patterns, I conform, I compare. Though it is subconscious (most of the time), it is still my behaviour. What's the trigger?

Is it because ever since I can remember myself, I was taught to appreciate the qualities and beauty of the non-realistic characters?

Loving the stunning princesses from the fairy-tails, admiring my perfect little dolls with cute button noses and long shiny locks. Then later, the models staring at me with their flawless complexion and faces from the pages of the glossy magazines, and the celebrity mums with their slim little bodies, perfect make up and expensive attire...I know all this is not real. Cinderella is a maid, Barbie is made of plastic and I haven't missed her since I was six.

We can all be models after 5 hours of Photoshop and Celebrates have a year long training and eating regimes before they shoot a nude or bikini scene, because after they give birth, for sure there is cellulite on their bums. They spend 3-4 hour under the brushes of Professional make-up artists and their gorgeous gowns are borrowed....

So, why this crazy obsession with fake perfection? Why am I even tolerating it? And where is that blurred line of loving and hating uniqueness? Why wasn't I taught to love reality, like the wonderful stretch marks on my mum's belly and the deep lines on my father's forehead?

When will I learn how to love and appreciate myself unconditionally...beyond the recognition of others? So many questions, and so many answers I am not happy with...

We are all human, bla...bla...

Yes, I am a human. Nature given privilege. But I was given a big brain and how I use it, what I do and learn is entirely up to me, not nature. There is no hard-wired DNA to be a snob, or hate your wrinkles, to fluff your hair and apply 7 layers of lipstick because it's the norm.

I pretend to be a little intelligent. But is it intelligence to install falseness in order to achieve the acceptance and appreciation of others, or is it just a self-serving egoistic need that fills up the insecurity bubbles with hot air?

Maybe, I am not exactly insecure as per the wide understanding of the term, but there must be something that pushes me to do all things that I do. Like wearing fake lashes for example, or bleaching my hair. 

I call those things  'Feeling good and taking care of myself' . Right.

So is that what taking care of myself is? Not learning how to prevent the heart conditions that run in the family or be relaxed and happy within?

Looking and behaving like the 'pride' so that I am not the outcast lioness, sounds more like a scared sheep behaviour to me, bu