Before I Nag:Part 3

Ma cherie Danielle,

Once again, it’s me, your mother’s 22 year old self.

How have you been, my darling? Are you enjoying Mummy’s letters to you? I do hope all is well with you, my dear.

Well, in a way, I promised you I’d talk about this topic eventually in one of these little notes to you. In this letter, I’d try to do just that.

Again, I keep wondering how you’d look like now, a young woman about to blossom into who she wants to be. I wonder if you’d take after me. I wonder if you have my almond shaped, deeply-set blue-brown eyes. I wonder if your hair will flow too in thick, sable waves. I wonder if your tall, lithe body will be wrapped in coffee-coloured skin. Or, will you take after Daddy (whoever he is!)? Either way, however you’d look, there’s one thing Mum is sure of. No matter what, you are utterly lovely, my Danielle.

I know. I know. I’m your Mum. I’m required by familial ties to say that. But you know what, even without them and despite my not seeing you grow into a woman for another thirty or so year, I would still say right now, Ms. Danielle Beatrix (Insert our last name here), that you are gorgeous.

You may not believe me. I understand. I should do so, after all, there was a point in my life I thought I looked like a freak. You may not know this, but yes, your mother did once believe she was, well, utterly gross.

When I was seven years old, I imagined my twenty year old self to be, well, Keira Knightley. Of course, I didn’t know the actress then (She’d get her fame when I’m already in high school). I did however, basically covet her features --- those sparkling hazel eyes, the lovely champagne gold hair, the milky white complexion. Of course, we now know that those features are far from what I have, and little by little, it became apparent. For that, I was quite angry at myself. It didn’t help that your aunt, my older sister had exactly the mestiza features I so badly longed for. It wasn’t her fault, of course, for looking the way that she is. However, seeing her in the covers of those magazines, admittedly, made me feel like my dusky looks are not worthy of admiration.

Then, high school came with its screaming taunts. I can not count the many different names I’ve been called for, well, as mentioned in my first letter, caring more about my books than the boys. One thing’s for certain about those harsh words hurled at me: they thought I was ugly. What’s worse is I believed them once (though, it never looked like it to my friends. After all, an actress should know how to fake emotion.)

And then, one summer, I went to Australia. There, for some reason that was strange to me then, everyone stared at me. And no, unlike in my high school, it wasn’t because my hair was blocking their view of the blackboard. They were actually smiling at me. A bunch of girls came up to me to ask where I got my sun-kissed tan (to which, all I could reply was that it’s natural.). A make-up saleslady at David Jones told me she wished I could stay put for the day because my eyes seemed like the perfect canvas for the eyeshadow she was testing. There was even a man who tried to ask for my phone number at a Brisbane grocery store. In their eyes, I was gorgeous. The girl who was compared to Shiva, the destroyer (after a rowdy Asian history class) is apparently a goddess in the eyes of these Australians.

This is when I realized that beauty can come in all shapes, colours and sizes. It isn’t limited to simply that creamy skinned, flaxen-locked girl in a magazine. In fact, every single woman on this planet is lovely simply because they are, they exist, they were created with meticulous care by Him. Beauty is not just limited to the physical too. It actually radiates from the inside-out.

I guess all I’m trying to tell you, my dear, is that no matter what the world says, you are lovely. You are lovely because it’s in your human nature to be. You are lovely because of the beautiful treasures you hold inside you. You are lovely because you are, my Danielle.

And you know what? I’ll always adore you, my beautiful daughter.


With love,
Mum