"I don't think that being a strong person is about ignoring your emotions and fighting your feelings. Putting on a brave face doesn't mean you're a brave person. That's why everybody in my life knows everything that I'm going through. I can't hide anything from them. People need to realise that being open isn't the same as being weak."

- Taylor Swift

Thursday, June 03, 2010

Growing Up.

I think I'm recovering from being a makeup addict.

I first discovered makeup when I was about eleven. It was about the first time I found out about boys, and how, if you're lucky, they like you and kiss your cheek, and the first time I found out about periods and pimples. Eleven is a young age to find out about this sort of stuff. But when I was a child, that was the norm. We get thrown into adulthood so early, whilst adults are insisting we act like children when it's too late, we're already past that, and then we have to figure out things by ourselves.

Before eleven, I was a happy child. Optimistic. It was before a time when I didn't doubt myself. It was a time when trifle things like boys and friends didn't really matter to me. My whole world was filled with books - endlessly books. The joys in my life were simple joys, fulfilling joys. A soft bed after a long day, hot food after a day of choking down sandwiches, my mother's soft, warm hugs.

I wish my life went back to then.

Starting from eleven, I truly began to hate myself. Before then, it never really occured to me that I was, school-world speaking, so many social classes lower than some of my peers. I lived in a world where I came first in everything I wanted to come first in, like reading class and spelling bees, and last in everything I didn't care about, like math. But when I was eleven there it was a whole new experience - I was last, and I so desperately, desperately, wanted to be first.

It was then I became obsessed with how I looked. I played endlessly with my hair. I'd badger my mother for makeup and carefully, religiously, smear it on my face every day. I worried about how my stomach stuck out, the random marks on my newly-enormous hips, my crooked teeth, my small Asian eyes. I was one of the first in my class to discover the joy of acne, so I also became one of the first in my class to wear makeup. Ignorant to the fact in three years time every girl worth her salt would have a compact mirror and a black kohl pencil in their pockets wherever they went, I fast grew a reputation as a slut, and some kind of desperate crazy person - all because I had lipgloss and sanitary pads in my bag and no-one else did.

That's how my makeup obsession started.

Don't get me wrong, I still love makeup. I'm a lot better at it now then when I was eleven, and I'm much better equipped. But until quite recently, I wouldn't leave the house unless I had something on my face - even just going out to get groceries with ma I would dab powder on my nose and concealer on my zits and rim my eyes with kohl.

It wasn't healthy, the way I obsessed over my looks - but I was pressured. I was insanely jealous of those pretty girls who seemed to get away without wearing makeup, and they were the girls who often teased me about my gratitious cosmetic use. They were the kind of girls who thought that you must have done something dreadful to get zits on your nose, and you must commited an unspeakable sin to have my 'squinty eyes', as they called them. And the endless frustration of the lack of attention from boys - how it tormented me! I spent a good three years pining for some boy, any boy, to take any kind of attention to me.

It's taken me a little while, but I've weaned myself off makeup. I've accepted how I look without it - I've accepted my small eyes, my spotty brown face, my snub nose. But do you know what? I've been weaning myself off makeup, and boys, subconciously. I only realized that I had gotten over my makeup obsession when I was taking off my makeup just now, after a concert (everyone wears makeup for concerts), and as I was wiping off the makeup I was like 'Wow, I don't look like a demon. So what was all the fuss about?'. The same with boys - I've kind of resigned myself to the fact that all the single boys in my school are single for a reason.

Of course, there are some things I'll never grow out of. I'll never be able to put down and step away from my precious little pot of black gel eyeliner for good. I'll never not cry over a boy again, and I'll always gobble up rom-coms and romantic fiction and have a little blue moment, wishing I was Clare Abshire, wishing I was Bella Swan, wishing I was Elizabeth Bennet. But hey, one day I'll meet my Henry DeTamble. One day I'll meet my Edward Cullen, my Mr Darcy. And I'm gonna meet him and he's gonna love me without makeup on. Because as much as I want love now, I've learned the hard way not to accept second-best. I want someone to want me for me, not the mascara I wear.

So I'm gonna wait. And while I'm waiting, I'm gonna be happy. I'm gonna live life, and forget about boys until they can't forget about me. I've promised myself that. Do you know why? Because I deserve it.

4 comments:

Adelaide Dupont said...

Who are Clare and Henry? They seem like romantic heroes and heroines.

Loved reading about how you related to make-up.

(This comes in straight after I read The Young Girl in Women's Life Today [The Second Sex]. There are many interesting stories in there, and yours would be an addition).

And especially the bit at the concert when you realised you weren't a demon, or didn't look like one.

(We all know that the real demons seem to hide it behind their looks. Or rather, that the demon doesn't have a look).

Hope you do find someone who loves you for you. And be compassionate to the single boys.

Anonymous said...

Clare and Henry DeTamble are the main characters of my new favourite book, The Time Traveller's Wife. It's a romantic sci-fi, so yeah, lots of love and goo.

Adelaide Dupont said...

Glad you love The Time Traveller's Wife so.

Love and goo can be a good combination.

Guess Who said...

I think it's good that you were experimenting with makeup at an early age. Otherwise, you might have dicovered it at 15 and gone around thinking you knew what you were doing...but didn't.
Always good to get the embarrassing period over with while you're still young.
Oh, and I really agree with you about the boys at school. Forget about them, they really aren't worth it.