Different people have different definitions of beauty. You'd think that the word "beauty" is hardly associated with boys (or men, rather). Am I already at the age where I have to use the word "men" instead of "boys" to refer to the opposite gender? Well, damn. But little did we notice that men have their own definition of "beauty". Not that I'm a man or anything, but I guess men find beauty in how one's so-called crooked smile compliments her face perfectly, how one's tanned skin brings out her eyes and how her broad shoulders make her look like a confident and strong woman rather than a girl.
To us girls, we'd consider a girl "beautiful" when she has flawless skin, on-point eyebrows, high cheekbones, dimples (Did you know that dimples are actually a pathology? It's so amazing how we find beauty in a disease), legs that look mighty fine in leggings, a flat stomach and the list is endless. For a minute there, it almost seems like I'm describing Angelina Jolie. It's so funny how often our insecurities are based on other people's "perfections" (So we say).
As every other girl that lives in the current mindset of our society, it's without a doubt that I have my own set of insecurities. If you're one of my friends, you'd know how carefree I can be when it comes to myself. How idgaf I can be when it comes to how I look. Let me just tell you one thing though, it hasn't always been like that. It took me a *long* while to get to where I am, this spot called self-love.
I used to feel extremely insecure every single time I left the house. It started off with "Why aren't I taller?" to "Why isn't my face longer?" to "Why am I not perfect?". It took me a while to realize that there is no "perfect" and neither is there a "normal". Who are we to say what is "normal" and what is not?
I guess, along the way, I started to look hard and find perfections in my own imperfections. I started to embrace my insecurities. I started not caring about the fact that I had flat canines, and some misaligned teeth. I stopped caring about my ginormous feet. The only shoes that fit me are Crocs and Clarks, which are, mind you, FREAKING PRICEY, but so what, right? Double chins? Double don't care. I loved how I looked, and I still do. I finally found the definition of "beauty" in myself. A part of me wished I realized it much earlier so that I didn't have to live year after year in self agony.
So, what's your definition of "beauty"?
