I can still remember the feeling of sitting in front of the mirror, brushing my hair with my mother's wide-toothed comb. My hair was long, thick, and dark, just like my father's, but my face—my face was a puzzle I couldn't quite piece together. I always thought I was unlucky. I wasn't pretty, not in the way that I wanted to be. My jaw was too strong, my teeth crooked, and my face—well, it just didn't fit the image I had of beauty.
But I had hope. I told myself that one day, I'd be able to fix it. That one day, I'd be able to become someone like Princess Diana, or Audrey Hepburn, or Heart Evangelista. The kind of women who carried elegance with every gesture and spoke with the kind of grace I only dreamed of.
I would practice, you know? I'd stand in front of the mirror, gently placing my hands on my hips, learning to move like I'd seen them move. I'd adjust my posture, shoulders back, chin up, trying to embody all the poise I could muster. The world may not have thought I was pretty, but I would show them grace, kindness, and empathy.
That was my escape—the world of beauty and elegance, where everything fit neatly into place, and I wasn't out of place. I was lucky, I know, in some ways. I got my father's beautiful hair and my mother's fair skin. But even then, I still wished for more. I wished my teeth weren't crooked, that my jaw wasn't so prominent, that my face could look just like my mother's. She was stunning, always the center of attention, always the picture of beauty.
I didn't have what she had, but I could work for it. I could wait. I could transform into someone else when the time was right. I didn't have to rush. I didn't need to know what was wrong with me until I could fix it. Maybe, someday, I'd even be able to transition into a woman and be who I was meant to be.
But for now, I just had to wait. Wait and dream. Dream of becoming someone else, someone beautiful, someone worthy of being seen.
And maybe, just maybe, one day, I would learn to see myself.