Moments of Introspection
17, Singapore
She files her nails— almost obsessively. Not too pointed, but just taper enough to be revered by others. “Nails say a lot about a person.” She says. It was also her way of maintaining her personal hygiene— like a shower or exercise. And so she applied this very philosophy to her everyday life. With curly hair, honeycomb mousse and coconut oil became her best friends and her scent became formidable. She was coconut and honeycomb, an inseparable combination. On the days she went out, one would never catch her without a spare floral-scented serum in her purse— you know? For the touch-ups. She would always keep her makeup light and simple, she would intone “Less is more” and sure enough, it was. Her mere naturality and eccentric features— like her high cheekbones and almond-shaped-upturned eyes for instance— proved favorable to her notoriety. Light foundation, a touch of concealer, blush and highlighter, some eyebrow gel, and a generous coat of mascara. An undetectable application of makeup, that was her secret formula.
Her wardrobe is like a Barneys catalog, and no matter the occasion, she always dresses to impress. From the design of a blouse down to the cut of a ring, fashion has always been her outlet to embody any persona she desired. Clothes divulged her confidence, and she craved that intoxicating feeling of conviction or perhaps dominance.
She was admired by others, and had this very peculiar, even alluring vitality to her, that you couldn’t exactly put your finger on. When she looks at you, she really looks at you. But not in an uncomfortable or pretentious way, but rather in a solicitous one. Like she’s trying to feel you out, and study you. When you spoke to her, she listened to each and every word, and its syllable, how it was emphasized, and the way in which it was pronounced, even the cadence and rhythm of your voice, then pondered, visualized, and digested its meaning. “Everyone has a story.” She’d often recite, it was only a matter of time before she unearthed yours. And when you spoke to her, she would never give any indication of what was going through her head or what she was feeling. It’s both infuriating and unexplainably enchanting. But the next couple of times you speak with her, you’ll know you’re in when you hear her laugh. When you see those charming dimples form on the sides of her face.
But the principal indicator will be her eyes. Her big, beautiful, hazel-green eyes. She may seem intimidating, but if you want to know how she truly feels— it’s all in her eyes.
She’s a total mystery, but she wasn’t always like that though. Nobody really knows what happened, but there was a time when she was perky, excited about everything life has to offer— and at times too much to handle— could you believe it? That’s not to say she isn’t a ray of sunshine now, when she lets you in, and boy you’d be lucky if she did, she’s the most beautiful person in the room. She gleams, and when she does, then so do you. It’s impossible not to, she is iridescent. She is love. Few know this side of her though, but it’s not intentional, she simply prefers not to waste her time. She has dreams so big and passions so great and, someday she’ll be a star.
Others think she's lonely, she isn’t very popular— even though there was a brief time when she was— she hated it. Sometimes those people are right, but she doesn’t let those thoughts get to her, she knows good things are bound to happen. She’s almost there, inches away from the finish zone. But she’s also an idealist, she lives in her head. “Things are prettier there.” She would quip. So maybe this very image of her is simply a conjuring of her imagination?
And after writing this, I pause and think for a moment, “That’s at least how I hope people see me.”