Ever have moments where revelations just hit you with a sudden bang, as if someone whacked you upside the head with a frying pan? Alright, maybe not so grotesque but nevertheless. Today was an unusual day of sorts; perhaps it’s due to the fact that I only slept for 3 hours the night before.

I went to the mall today for new clothes even though I can’t entirely afford such indulgences currently, but I desperately needed new jeans. Consequently, I purchased 2 pairs of jeans, 1 skirt, and 3 unbelievably adorable tops totaling a sizable $138.

For the past 3 years I loathed shopping for clothes — It seemed to be more of a chore than a luxury. Now that I reflect on that disposition, I realize why: My darling mother. Much like my mother’s foul perception of what defines intelligence, her assessment as to what denotes beauty is likewise as skewed. I’ve always had artistic, creative, and intuitive intellect but none of that “book-smart” flair. Growing up under the shadows of my closest friends who’d been valedictorians, saludatorians, etc. had never served to uplift my already depraved self-esteem, especially since my parents place so much emphasis on being the best. As for beauty, looking like one of those Victoria Secret models would elate my mother beyond belief. That’s not to say she doesn’t consider me beautiful; she has, however, quite a few times insisted that I skip meals so I’ll become the “skinny person” I once was, which left me feeling disgusted about my self-image — I am fat and ugly, and no one will ever love me. My love for shopping soon slipped away, and I became repulsed at anything that would reveal a smidgen of my skin — Hooded, over-sized jackets and t-shirts became my favoured articles of clothing. Primping became taboo.

Today, 3 years later, I realize how much I shouldn’t care about what my mother perceives as beauty. I love my body. I’m not fat, but I’m not starving, either. I’m “curvacious” as many of my friends have commented. I am capable of doing a dress justice whereas others aren’t. I have muscles, not merely skin and/or bones. That being said, my new wardrobe differs drastically from that of before, and I’m delighted I no longer fear what others may think and let that directly affect how I feel about myself.

I’m beautiful, and that’s all there is to it.

Additionally, intellect is not solely based on how much of the textbook material you can regurgitate in a minute whilst having a conversation that pertains to a specific subject; it’s the maturity and rationality of your statements in reference to the subject.

I’m an intellegent being and I will never let anyone tell me otherwise again.