Being comfortable in one’s own skin, the growth of a woman, translated…
Recently, there’s this trend of plastic surgery, on the weekends when I’d gotten together with my girlfriends, we’d gotten engaged in the discussion topics of minor surgeries, we are all approaching forty years of age, and, the traces of time had crawled onto our faces now, after birth, our figures are NOT as slim as they used to be either.
In order to keep up with the looks, the ladies had gone through minor surgeries, some had botox injections or implants, W had even planned to get her body fat frozen and taken off of her body. As my girlfriends shared their ins and outs with plastic surgery, I’m just listening, and NOT understanding a word they’re saying, and I didn’t realize, that there are assortments of plastic surgery. Sitting next to me, W asked, that didn’t I feel moved to alter some physical features about myself at all? I didn’t.
I didn’t want to spend the money, NOT because I was a natural born beauty, nor am I froze in time, I look ordinary, and, the lines on my face, along with sunspots are meeting everybody now, and, even though, my waistline is still within the normal range, but, it’s been a very long time, since I measured just twenty-five inches, as for the main reason I didn’t want to “get fixed” is traced to before when I started aging.
When I was younger, I’d had a ton of acne, causing me to NOT feel confident enough with the way I looked, I’d envied my female classmates with the clear complexions, and so, after my puberty passed, I’d worked hard, to learn to put on makeup, I’d chased beauty the best I could.
I’m NO longer the ugly duckling I once was, but I didn’t feel satisfied deep down at all, I’m not even happy, just because when there are small black dots on my face, I’d start to freak out, and, I’d spent ALL of my hard-earned money, buying the expensive makeup products, and, I’d worked hard, to make myself look beautiful on the outside, and, in the end, I’d become psychotic.
Even though, “time is the natural enemy of women”, instead, I believed, that the years had given me a TON of wisdom, it’d taught me to slowly get OUT from under the myth of looking beautiful, and I’d understood better, what happiness looks like on me. And, I think that the “ages” give women “immunity” that is hard to come by too, it’d allowed the cougars to NOT care that much about the way they looked, after all, as age increased, it’s NOTHING to freak out over when there are extra lines, extra spots on one’s faces, is there?
And so here, we have, gone from being superficial, because she DID care too much about the way she looked, spent a TON of her hard earn money, worried too much about how she looked, and gotten psychotic, to now, not even caring a BIT about that extra frown line on her face, and this sort of an understanding only comes with A-G-E.