I wish no one ever told me that I’m beautiful. Ever.

Because what is beauty? Is it really something you can see? Is it something you can touch?

I look in the mirror and I see a human, a woman with a face and body. I’m perfectly normal. What makes me beautiful in your eyes?

My Dear Grandmother, you told me once that my beauty is my worth. You weren’t talking about the real beauty, though. You meant the physical appearance. And people have been calling me beautiful ever since. I believe them, so I enter a room and I want to be admired, I want people to notice me, I want people to talk about me. If they don’t, my life is done. I’m done.

I put too much effort in something that doesn’t exist, in something that most of the people don’t care about. I’m drawn on a wall where you can see me, indeed, but in fact you cannot speak to me at all. I’m fake, made of paper.

I wish you never called me beautiful.

How should I live up to that now? You’ve ruined my life… You’ve ruined my life because you make me want to be beautiful. But I’m done. I won’t put a lipstick on only because society expects me to.

Have you ever felt like you said one word too much? You know, when you speak to someone you barely know and you accidentally share something personal?

I’ve done it too many times. Then I’d analyse my every word and wish that conversation had never gone that way. It makes you wonder what that person is going to think about you. Will they care? Will they pass it on to someone or forget about it?

But how else to start a friendship? You must share some of you in order to make friends with someone.

I don’t make friends easily. I’m an introvert, which means I’m usually quiet around people. It’s more difficult to get to know me. I choose words carefully and say only the necessary ones. That doesn’t mean I have nothing to say. I do. But the things I want to say don’t interest most of the people. When I start, I’m not able to stop. Then there comes a logorrhea. And the logorrhea doesn’t make any sense…

Funny thing. I speak to people, but they can’t really understand the words I’m saying. That constant overthinking the purpose of my life on this earth. (Wherever I go, whatever I do, the philosophical sh*t is always with me). Apparently, most people don’t think about it. They just live.

Whenever I feel like I shared too much from myself, I want to crawl back into my shell and disappear. I grow distant and cold to the person I confided in, and that takes me right to the very beginning. That ruins the whole idea of a friendship.

Do you like yourself? Do you like the way you look?

I know most young people struggle to accept themselves for what they are. I’m not that young anymore, though, I’ve lived with myself for a few decades now. I’ve accepted my body, finally realising that’s the only thing I was given that truly belongs to me. I’ve learned how to like some of my qualities. I’ve stopped comparing myself to others. At least, I thought so.

Women sometimes seek men who admire them, so that they could find affirmation in those men’s eyes. Sometimes these women are looking for acceptance in someone else because they don’t know how to accept themselves.

In my case, it was the opposite. I fell for a man who hadn’t seemed interested in me. I felt good with myself, but I wasn’t good in his eyes. So I started questioning my appeal. I started spending more time in front of a mirror because I wanted to look my best. I started comparing myself to the women that were around him.

Look at her. She’s much prettier than me. Her skin is smooth, her hair is shiny, her legs are longer, she’s taller, she’s more feminine, she’s mysterious. Why would he want me, if she’s much better than me?

It seemed like he’d taken everything away from me. I didn’t want to be me anymore…

Deep down I knew, though, that the thoughts were ridiculous. Why should I rely on his judgment? Why should I seek validation from him?

I’ve always been content being on my own until you came along – Kora