Grandpa

I've been thinking a lot about self-esteem lately. I've always been fairly confident in my appearance, not because I'm exceptionally beautiful, but mostly because I never thought too much of how I looked. Many of my friends struggled with massive insecurities about their bodies, often leading to very self-destructive behavior, but somehow I escaped most of that.

Until I lost weight. I know that sounds really odd, but in high school I had put on a decent amount of weight, so when I graduated I was a tad overweight. I thought my body looked pretty nice that way, though. I had nice, full hips & bottom, and an ample enough chest, with a comparatively small waist. The summer after my freshman year of college, I grew ill and began to lose a lot of weight, fast. Instead of losing weight in a pleasant way, I mostly just became curve-less. My face looked thin and tired and colourless. Plus, I broke my nose for the second time, creating an awkward bump on the bridge. I didn't like it at all. By August, I knew the truth: I was ugly.

I put on a little weight after, only to lose it & more quickly. I'd look angrily in the mirror every morning, wondering what the strange, ghoul-like creature staring back at me was. But every morning, we got a little more used to each other. I'd always been pale, but now my skin seemed translucent, even a smidge blue. This was perhaps one of the single most convincing factors for me that I was no longer attractive. Yet, the more I got used to it, the more I liked it. I liked how, if I dyed my hair darker, there seemed to be something unusual and dramatic about my face. I liked experimenting with blush for the first time in my life. I even became okay with the new size and shape of my body. Still, there was one thing haunting me: my crooked, bumpy nose.

I sat next to Em, examining my reflection in a mirror. He didn't think I was ugly, I knew. In fact, if I had asked him then (or now) he would insist I'm the most beautiful girl in the world. Of course, as it always is with women, simply having someone tell you that you're beautiful doesn't much change your opinion - unless, of course, you're already convinced you're gorgeous. Then it may strengthen it. But on this particular examination of myself, I noticed something, "I have my grandpa's nose."

My grandpa has a long, narrow nose (like mine) that he's broken something like 4 times (like mine). Em thinks he looks like Clint Eastwood. I like my grandpa a lot. He has an odd sense of humor and has retained serious golf injuries (who does that?). He's been a huge supporter of me my whole life and I'm glad to call him my grandpa. And I have a nose that looks like his.

So maybe it is just how we think about things, after all. I think my nose looks pretty regal. Yeah, regal.