Why I no longer Care about Appearances

Why I no longer Care about Appearances

Written By Grandpa Dinosaur

Four days ago, Sunday, I was bringing my tea cup and tea pot downstairs to clean and noticed my sister-in-law’s sister in the kitchen door frame and her husband talking to my father, while looking out the dining room window at the growing spring foliage. My sister-in-law was chiming happily in the kitchen as she swept and I struggled to not burst into laughter. My sister-in-law was obviously cleaning for show, she NEVER cleans around the house. It was just because her sister was home.

This is the distinct difference between my sister-in-law and I. She cares about projecting false appearances

I don’t give two middle fingers.

I began to watch my dishes and I knew that both women were looking at me disapprovingly, my clothing mismatched and wrinkled, and I did not care.

And then the obvious derisive, condescending comment came, “hey do you ever think about using Pro-Activ?”

“No.” I shot back immediately. My face wasn’t BAD at all, I had three minor pimples and I had not showered and knew very well I was playing a fixed game.

I watched at my sister-in-law’s sister look like she bit into a lime, and me and her husband are very fond of limes as a desert best eaten with salt.

“You don’t have to say it like that,” she bemoans, bitterly that I have treated her just as she deserved instead of deferring to her judgement.

“Pro-Activ is expensive, do you know that?” She shakes her head I continue, “I don’t have the money to buy more. Unless you want to buy it for me.”

And I just leave.

As an Asian woman, especially being judged by two women sold into marriage through arranged marriage I know that I’m being judged on my appearance. I’ve seen my sister-in-law’s grades, I’m smarter than her, and she’s not as smart at she claims to be. I only failed courses because the racism and favouritism in my classes became something I could barely endure. I am not perfect, if I was perfect I could stand up to peer-pressure and knock every fucker out (and I have) but even I have limits.

I am not perfect, I am not strong in the sense of having a strong body. But I make up for my lack of strength with my effort and heart. I am not always brave, but try to be brave as often as I can.

I do not give two shits what people think about how I look. In other people’s eyes I am not beautiful, no matter how hard I could try to “clear my skin” I would still have big cheeks. No matter how much weight I lost in the past, I was still told I still had to lose more weight. There is not one day that goes by where my father, mother, brother and sister-in-law do not call me ugly.

My “ugliness” is inescapable, my constant insistence that I need to “step up my game” is inescapable. The physical abuse that comes from me not losing weight, the slaps to the face for being to fat, the jeers for wearing the wrong shoes, that my clothes are the same that an old lady would wear.

My imperfection is inescapable. You will always find something wrong with me. I am not white, I’m not even black. I’m Cambodian, a minority in Canada. I am not the norm to the point of being abnormal, there is not one thing about me that “is good” in the standards of Western AND Asian beauty.

I have tan skin, a naturally round face. I am short. I only have I only have three good features according to Asian standards: my small hands, my small feet and that I am pure-blooded. Everything else, is ugly. I also come from a Third World country.

I learned an important lesson and that no matter how kind you are and how kind another person is, they do not have to accept you if they do not want to accept you. That is the world. If you are yourself, it does not mean that someone will automatically like you for being yourself.

But it doesn’t mean you don’t have value, it doesn’t mean you are unlikable… Unlovable.

What I lack in strength I make up with conviction, I believe that I am of value. That there is something good in myself, everyone else can hate their noses and eyes and fat. Not me, I’m not with that. I’m tired.

Do you know why?

Because I try, harder than anyone I know. I don’t do everything perfectly. I fall down and get hurt, I get beat up but I never lose sight of my goals. BUT!—I am the person I want to be, not the person that other people want to be. When someone tells me that I can’t do something and I want to do it, I do it. If I don’t want to do it, I don’t. I am who I want to be. I have done the things I want to do.

I live the life I want to live they way I want to. I try my best never to regret my decisions and the words I say, I apologize when I am wrong and NEVER EVER obsess about being right. I do MY best, my personal best at the pace I want to go at.

Fuck everyone else, they do not care about what I want, what my WANTS are, what I want to be.

They want me to be someone else, they want me to be a movie starlet, doctor, scuba-diver. I do not care about the opinions of people who wish to increase my value so that I may be sold to the highest bidder. I am not a pig to be fattened for the butcher, I am myself.

I love my body, it’s not the healthiest, strongest body and it does it’s best in the abusive, violent desert wasteland that is this earth. I’ll outright say, and remind you that my body is weak. My arm is damaged and malfunctioning and I walk differently to cover up my limp. If I were to walk normally, you would notice that I sort of hobble as I walk. I have to walk at my own pace and leisure, I’m not strong but I am happy with what I have and can work with it.

I don’t try to be Jennifer Lopez or a Japanese Geisha, I can’t. And it’s not me.

I just try to be me, and I love being my most honest, sincere self. My chubby, bouncy body with puffy angry cheeks and a silly smile.

When I die, I want to be glad that the pictures I have now are not photogenic and completely ridiculous and unusable. I don’t want to be remembered or be in the memories of anyone as being superficial or beautiful, but strong with a weak body. I want to smile at what I want and love what I want. I want to live my short and so far, very painful life to the fullest.

I cannot imagine a better life.

I have been to many a death bed and many wished to live a fuller life, but never pursued a fuller life. They expect life to be handed to them. They expect to live longer so that they can do it but instead they dick around in the late years of their lives and accomplish nothing, and hand the responsibility of their unfulfilled dreams to their children.

None have died happy, but all have accepted their deaths sadly. I grew up with the very real taste of death in the mouth—coming close to death many times as I was a pre-mature and sick baby. That is life, sometimes it is death that makes you live life to the fullest.

I have lived a good life. I look back and know that I haven’t done everything perfectly or right, but I tried my best. After all, the road of good intentions is paved with heartbreak, betrayal and sadness. Like Raoh, I have no regrets. And I would like to continue to live and love myself without regrets.

That is why I do not care about appearances, they hinder my ability to live life to the fullest. I would rather spend my life pursuing my goals than pursuing perfection. Youth is only momentary, perfection is impossible and almost unimportant and useless to me. The standards of beauty do not play into my favour anyway, I do not look Chinese as my sister-in-law and her sister do. I am not white in this Western World. I am not represented well at all.

I will project the image of myself—a positive image, and it will be you chooses to see it. I no longer care the fact that the world chooses to be blind to the truth.

Beauty is in the eye of the beholder.
And you are not the one holding the eye.

But I would rather see and acknowledge the goodness and beauty in myself
OVER the ugly and the impossible to perfect perfection
to my benefit.

You choose to see it.
I see it.

If you don’t want to:
Here’s a ugly picture of me assaulting a white woman in a restroom.

\
Knock yourself out.

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~ by l on April 30, 2008.

3 Responses to “Why I no longer Care about Appearances”

  1. You don’t look at all ugly to me. But even if you did, it is irrelevant what I think because a/ I don’t know you and b/there is much more of value in a person than their external appearance. The latter point is something that seems to have been forgotten in our appearance focused world.

    Oh and your SILs sound like…well…bitches.

  2. My SILs are bitches, “good,” but spiteful people.

  3. You are actually really cute. And your eyes are lovely.
    And you look like you have fun, not like those chicks who have to always pout their lips and strike a pose in front of a camera. Their lack of joy is what really is ugly. Life is beautiful, and so are the people who live it loud.

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