THIS THING CALLED BEAUTY
By Peace Eluchie
People say beauty is in the eyes of the beholder but is that the truth? Who are the beholders of this beauty?
I grew up to hate how I looked because of people's judgements. I was criticized for my looks, my height, my colour and how I dressed. “Blacky,” was the name I was tagged with by some boys in my secondary school. I longed to be admired, to be loved like every other girl. I do admire other girls. I see beauty in them but never in me. “I wonder how it would feel if I had the power to exchange souls with this pretty lady—kind of like an alchemy of souls, living as her for a day,” this thought would pop up in my head whenever I see a fine lady.
This hatred I nurtured towards myself ate deeply like worms feasting on a dead, decayed body—that's because self-love died in me. I hated my height as well. Being called “short” was offensive to me. I would roar “I'm not short! Besides I'm still growing,” as a response. I thought eating beans would enhance my height—no wonder why beans became my favourite meal. I could eat beans all day for a week if possible. I admired long-legged [tall] ladies also wishing to trade souls with them. Not one person called me beautiful, I guess they never beheld me as such in their eyes. The friends I mingled with as friends never uttered the words I looked forward to hearing. In a quest for beauty, I did things that I now have regrets for. Whenever the memories popped into my head reminding me of the things I did, I would mutter the words “I wish time machines existed so that my wrongs could be fixed.” It was obvious that time machines only existed in fairytale stories, not in real life.
I resorted to stealing some money from my mother and father so that I could purchase the best, most effective, bleaching creams for my skin colour to be enhanced. I wanted to be fair in my complexion—white like the oyinbos. I applied these bleaching creams morning, noon and night, staying committed to a rapid result all in the name of being beautiful. I visited different cosmetic shops in a week to get more bleaching products that promise fast bleaching. My skin colour changed. It became obvious as people would call me one side to ask if I was bleaching. “Chinenye, your skin… are you bleaching?” Would be people's opening remark after noting the visible changes. This made me feel the happiness radiating from within me. At least I'm no more the “blacky” they tease me as. My skin was making me feel like a foreigner who had parents of different races—one parent African and the other American. I could be mistaken to be mixed whose non-african genes were stronger in terms of skin colour.
The joy was short-lived when I received the beating of my life from my mother who later found out that I had been stealing her money as well as daddy's. The beating worsened when she got to know the real reason why I kept on stealing the money. I stopped trying to change my skin colour for beauty. Within a short period of time, my skin colour went back to its original colour. I learnt that fake life does not last long and that chasing beauty was merely an earthly pleasure.
It took me time to heal. This healing was a mental healing of letting go of being called “beautiful.” Little by little, I started seeing myself as beautiful even though no one saw it. I began to appreciate my dark skin filled with melanin that kept it popping. I stopped eyeing other girl's beauty and wishing to be them. I cared less about my height—no longer ready to pounce on any person that called me “short.” I did not change because of the beating I received from my mother but because I had a sober reflection on my life. I got to learn that fake life does not last long. It fades out of existence after a while. Trying to be beautiful was the fake life I tried living.
Every morning I would look in a mirror and stare at myself. I did this everyday. I would compliment the girl I saw in the mirror saying, “Chinenye, accept the fact that you are beautiful. You don't need anybody to tell you what you are.” I kept this act going for a long time till I broke the chains of wanting beauty. The world has different definitions of beauty. In Modelling, you have to be tall, slim and have the perfect body to be crowned beautiful. Having big lips became a trend where celebrities would go under the knife just to acquire big lips. So many new requirements and beauty standards made be realized that there is no specific thing that categories one as being beautiful.
Some months back, Moses Bliss and his wife Marie became the trending topic. Everyone acknowledged Marie as beautiful. Moses even crowned her the most beautiful in the whole world. This got me thinking about this thing of beauty that took a huge toll on me when I was younger. I asked myself, “why is she beautiful? “ because even my own eyes could admit to her beauty. “Is it her hair? Her skin colour? Her height? Or something else?” I questioned myself trying to figure it out. She released a video later on about why she does not wear tight or fitted dresses. I watched the video and realized that even Marie at a point in her life felt she was not beautiful and longed to be acknowledged as such. She spoke on how she started feeling less of herself because the boys in her school never regarded her as beautiful—like all other girls in her school. The time she was seen as beautiful was when she was at her athletes training in school and a sudden noticed her probably because her body was a bit exposed.
Beauty is in the eyes of the beholder. This beholder is the person. The way Marie carries herself in and out is what makes her beautiful she has acknowledged to herself that she doesn't need any judgemental opinions to be called beautiful. I am beautiful not because of the beauty standards or how others see me. I am beautiful beautiful my eyes have beheld me as such. To be beautiful, you need to see yourseld as beautiful. The saying, "actions speaks louder than words" truly defines the changes I got to experience about myself that goes beyond the words I longed desperately to hear—you are beautiful Chinenye. The way you carry yourself, the way you walk boldly in a room filled with haters that whispers negative words into your ears shows are strong and beautiful you are.
Beautiful is merely a word. In character is where true beauty lies. To all the boys and girls out there feeling less of themselves, "you are beautiful!" You need to break free of the grip words have on you and start acting upon the lifestyle you want.
You are the beholder of your own beauty!
