I like my face.
At least right now I do.
But, this changes.
I’ve noticed a few things about my face over the years;
for example, it’s not perfectly symmetrical. It’s slanted in a way that is mostly unnoticeable unless you stare at it for a long time, but I don’t think anyone does that. Perhaps that’s when I learned to be okay with my face.
When I realized that not many people would stare and pick at bits and pieces of it like a vulture. Like I do.
I barely have eyebrows, so I fill them in often, and my eyelashes are pretty sparse.
I like my nose, especially with glasses. I’d describe it as stumpy. Someone once described it as cute, so I believed them instead. My eyes are small which is something I only realized after taking my glasses off once in high school.
My mouth is somewhat interesting. The top and bottom half are two completely different colors and form a bow-like shape in a way. I also have an overbite I thought was nice for a long time, but after seeing comparisons to a donkey, I’ve had to re-learn my old, positive, perspective on it.
And, the shape of my head is round, oval, and square all at the same time.
The way I look surprises me sometimes, almost as though I don’t recognize myself. Some days I tell myself my features are oddly placed and I stick out like a sore thumb. Other times it seems like I could blend into any crowd. Like I’m the most regular looking person to ever exist.
I focus on different parts of my face at times because I think it helps remove the mysticism behind beauty or a lack thereof. I’ve always known beauty to be subjective, but what I’ve tried to teach myself is that beauty can be found in everything. If something or someone exists, they should be considered beautiful for just being.
Today, I like my face. It’s a collection of my family’s DNA, my everyday experiences, and, sometimes, my personal style. But, most importantly, it’s mine.