The white skin, the blue eyes, the blonde hair. They have afforded me so much in this life. By their birthright acquisition, my existence has been privileged in a way I may never understand. There is a gulf between my white and blue and that of the dark and brown. Simple colors, vast dichotomy.
When I was very young, the world around me was a place to manipulate with my imagination. I spent blissful years - remembered only in faded feeling - living connected, living wondrously free. That moment came though, that moment in which we become aware of The Other. Instantaneous in that first awareness comes a second, the awareness that The Other judges us – not for the quality of our imagination, our wonderment at the world, our kindness or joy, but for the externals, the visuals. The cruelty of visual judgment must have hit me hard. Not because the judgments I received were cruel – my white, blue, blonde must have afforded me positive judgment, but because my sensitive soul felt deeply the unjustness of the existence of that judgment.
I would later spend years obsessed with that judgment. I made every attempt to favorably control it, as if by (visual, behavioral) perfection I could insert my hand into your mind, and wiggle my fingers into the creation of a positive ruling of me, by you. The privilege afforded me by my features was one so complete that I was oblivious to it, only able to see those features as not enough, as lacking. The blonde wasn’t blonde enough, the skin, once creamy, was now pasty to my own cruel, judging eyes. I began to manipulate my world again, not through imagination this time, but through hair dye, self-tanner, and behavioral masks. I manipulated my visuals to look however The Other had deemed it best to look - tan, blonde, skinny. I behaved how The Other had decided it is best to behave - quiet, nice, compliant. Every ounce of my energy went into the creation of an appearance, through which I hoped, believed, convinced myself would result in positive judgment.
I received a lot of confirmation in my quest – initial confirmation at least. I acquired superficial attention that left me feeling empty inside. It created a greed, a constant need to fill myself up with the superficial, the external, but as it always left me emptier than before, I always needed more. Finally, exhausted, drunk, and lonely to my core, I gave in. I gradually let go of my need for You to judge me. Over the past two years, I’ve let go, piece by piece. The behavioral masks went first. And now, the visuals. Which are proving much harder than anticipated. I stopped buying the self-tanner. I force myself to let my hair air-dry, wild, free and half curly. I leave the makeup in the bag, the curler and straightener on the shelf. Grudgingly, I apply sunscreen. I have promised myself that my physical manipulations will cease, at least temporarily, and I force myself to sit with the discomfort, the pain.
Even as I write, I am cruel to myself, a voice that I am just now beginning to realize I don't have to listen to, is telling me that I cannot write this, I sound superficial and silly, and will be judged as such by you, The Other. But I know that it is more than superficiality, it is a journey towards letting go of my need to be judged by you in order to exist. It is deciding that I will exist on my own terms. I will decide that I am pretty, not because of the blue, the tanned white, or the white-blonde, but because of my imagination, my wonderment, my kindness and my joy. I will decide that even those parts of myself that are unattractive are worthy of love. I will sit through the pain of feeling small, ugly, and inconsequential, knowing that the only way out is through.
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