“You are imperfect, permanently and inevitably flawed. And you are beautiful.”
― Amy Bloom
“are you sure?”
the stylist shoots the question from the eyes beneath his furrowed eyebrows.
i nod reassuringly.
he turns his thumb in the silver ring of the scissors, ever so slightly.
“it’s okay, it will just grow back”,
the cold edges of the blades kiss my forehead. irregular black lines float down to the floor.
some get caught on the skin of my face. the face that they hid for so long.
i cut my bangs short(er). from hovering right on my upper eyelid, they shrank to sit just before my eyebrows. why the drama, you ask?
i started wearing bangs to hide my face. because i didn’t like it. i still don’t love all of it.
i was pressured by my parents to get a nose job (i didn’t, FYI). or to eat more because my face was skinny and my nose appeared bigger in comparison. to not catch chickenpox from my brother because it would leave scars on my face!! (i did catch the pox, FYI)
so my hair became my veil.
now it’s a half an inch shorter.
it’s not much, but it is a step. and i don’t hate the reduced length.
it’s nice to see my eyes again,
have you ever had a seemingly unjustified insecurity?