As a child, and right until I left
home at 17, I was force-fed a daily diet of jibes of how ugly, fat and stupid I
was. They left such an imprint
that even at 40-something, even though my head now knows different, the wounded
child within cringes at every imagined magnified flaw. When I became a teenager, the insults
took on another level where my own father gave me all sorts of hurtful labels
(eg slut, whore) – all because boys started showing an interest and calling the
house. I felt embarrassed and
dirty. So I had my hair cut short
(to look like a boy), and tried my hardest to blend in with the furniture and not
call attention to myself. Of
course, years later, chasing a career in show business was SO at odds with
that! But a lifetime of self-loathing followed. Then again, it took having my own babies to realize the
failings did not lie within myself but with the monsters who had branded
me...
Then, some 15 years ago, my older
brother asked me to accompany his wife to a cosmetic surgeon’s office in
Bangkok because she was anxious about her level of English and apprehensive of
the potential end-product from a ‘lost-in-translation’ situation. Meanwhile, I was more concerned about
my lack of proficiency in Cantonese (my sister-in-law’s mother tongue) AND my
lack of Thai! But he
insisted. And so, like a good
little sister, I went along on the appointed day. Long story short, after the doctor finished with her
patient, she turned around to me and said, “Now, I could really get to work on
your face and make you look MUCH better!”
Ouch!
But the ‘good doctor’ was probably
right. Even now, I don’t do myself
any favours. I struggle to commit
to any sort of beauty regime, keep my nearly-always-unpainted nails short; and
am known to sport a shiny forehead due to a lack of foundation or powder. At 40-something, I do try to remember
to at least moisturise (sometimes), but even I know its only a half-assed job.
My daughters go to the hairdressers more than I do; AND I know at least one
girlfriend who would be horrified to know I nearly ALWAYS take the kids to
school in my workout gear. After
all, why bother with the hassle if I am just going running straight after? The problem with that? I struggle to be useful to my girls
when it comes to the whole ‘beautify me’ thingy, often having to call my
girlfriends who have a better idea on – for example, how to avoid collecting
multiple frequent flyer points in Zits-ville or how to avoid a shiny face!
I kid you not! A couple of months
back, when Matt and I got invited to go to some swanky fundraiser, I was
petrified! The crew who invited us
are what they would call in Italy “sprezzatura”, in that they look fabulously
and effortlessly glamorous – 24/7! Panicked, I promptly booked a facial, called
a girlfriend-in-the-know about the whole eyelash thingy (don’t ask!) and spent
the best of two weeks trawling the malls trying to find the ‘perfect’ dress and
frankly, the WHOLE thing was EXHAUSTING! The time and effort required! Urgh! I admit I came away with a new-found respect for these girls
from the little I glimpsed of their world. But I cannot help myself – a ‘glamour-puss’ I am not. Nada time nor patience.
I know I am not good at teaching the
girls the in’s and out’s of ‘prettying-up’ and often find myself extolling a
“less is more” mantra with them – whilst calling girlfriends in a panic for
advice or researching the Internet for answers I do not possess. BUT, I AM good at talking to them about
being kind and strong; about the importance of ‘feeding’ their soul, heart and
mind; of being true and honest; and the paramount necessity of balance and
dreaming. And most importantly,
how beautiful and loved they are. I hope its enough.
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