Written Ara Maniego

Okay. Five minutes left until peak hours.

Five minutes until I share a picture of me, a picture of myself that pictures my-self that I took by my own self from a plethora of pictorials slightly picturesque, but not at all perfect.

So I was in a car, driving to SnR, when suddenly the sun, with all its golden glory, clad me in an evanescent, luminous glow, and all I thought was “I’m beautiful”.

For a moment, I thought I was beautiful. For a moment, I felt as if I really was beautiful, a goddess graceful on an ocean of thorns, demure, soft, kind.

So I took a picture, because pictures last forever, and it made me feel like I can be lovely forever, when in fact delusion was just embracing me too tight, inhibiting me from seeing the surroundings, the truth that I was still just in a car going to SnR.

Okay. Three minutes left until peak hours.

I wanted my caption for my picture to be something like this. “Love yourself with your imperfections. Beauty fades, stupid is forever. No one is always prim and proper and perfect so don’t try too hard.”

But in the end, I came up with this instead. “I woke up like this”. ‘Cause no one’s stupid – smart enough to tell the truth anymore, so we bathe and lather ourselves in lies until we drown in them.

Okay. One minute left until peak hours.

I notice a picture I had taken a while back at a party. My friend invited me to this party somewhere I don’t remember, scrambled in my mind because of the alcohol or maybe because I try not to remember.

I try not to remember because at that time I felt ugly, and not at all beautiful. Now that I think about it, I try not to remember any party I’ve been on, because I would always be ugly. Look ugly, fuck no, I’m too narcissistic for that. I’m talking about feeling ugly. Feeling the endless pit of despair swallow you up into oblivion kind of ugly.

Okay. Twenty seconds left until peak hours. Whether I like it or not, I constantly picture a party on my face, except the crowd who came was not a crowd I wanted to invite at all.

There goes the fraternity of pimples raging drunk wild all over the place. Look at that nerd group of blemishes and scars who loiter around the previous group for a definite awkward amount of time. Why are you still here? No one wants you here!

Besides, I think the invitations got mixed up ‘cause what would’ve and could’ve been a good nose got replaced by ghastly snout. Oh, and what’s that hideous inflatable raft doing floating on the pool? Oh wait, those are just my lips.

Ten seconds left until peak hours.

I’m insecure. I’m lonely in my insecurity. When someone doesn’t glance at me or call me gorgeous, my mind spirals in an asylum of doubt and fear. I doubt and fear that all the hard work I’ve put into trying to look beautiful was all for nothing. Nothing can change the fact that I’m not as pretty as that girl, as rich as that girl, as perfect as that girl. That girl reminds me that I will never be loved like her, never loved like how I loved a boy that didn’t love me but loved her.

One second left until peak hours.

I press send.

        Well, there’s nothing much left to explain. We constructed this preconceived notion of perfection in whatever we show people, when in fact no one in this world constantly has consistent “picture-perfect” moments. This idea of perfect beauty in life has a toxic relationship with those who view it from afar as well as the ones who show it to them.



      As I said, we need to love ourselves with our imperfections. This statement is so overrated yet underrated at the same time - overrated due to the fact that everyone says it, being a staple for the realization of self-love, and underrated ‘cause we are incapable to walk the talk. This impotent drive towards perfection thus drives us insane, becoming insecurity rather than motivation.

“Beauty fades, stupid is forever”. ‘Nuff said.