Secrets of a (Typical) Insecure Woman

Secrets of a (Typical) Insecure Woman

I have a secret. I like to look down at my shoes when I walk, especially when I’m wearing my dusty-pink loafers. I like to look at the way my feet kick up the leaves when I walk, step into puddles of water at the sidewalks and even just stepping onto the concrete pavement. I like to look down at my shoes before shifting my gaze to the pairs of shoes around them. I like to follow the pair of shoes just right ahead of me, especially if they were stilettos. I like to see how they land gracefully upon the floor, carefully step around drain covers or puddles of water and watch them speed away when their owners are chasing for the bus or rushing to flag a taxi. I will then look down on my dirty pair of dusty-pink loafers, reminding myself what I had put it through, where I had been through and then I would pause to think “Maybe I’m just not that graceful as the ladies who wear those stilettos.”

I have a secret. I like to look at other people’s most beautiful features. I like to look at my best friend’s eyes. She has large, brown, warm eyes which I wished I had. I like to look at my sister’s dimples. She has such cute dimples which lighten up her usually serious features into a youthful, carefree look. I always wish I can be that carefree, or look that at least. I like to look at my best buddy’s fingers. He has such long, slender fingers from playing the piano which I think are beautiful. I always wish that I have such long and beautiful fingers. I like looking at another professor’s smile. He always has a cheeky smile. I think he is born with that kind of smile. He has a cheeky smile whenever he waves at me when we see each other at the canteen. He has a cheeky smile whenever he tells a joke in class. He has a cheeky smile whenever he sees a piece of good essay and is complimenting it. And the best thing about his smile is that it transforms. It does not just transform into any smile in any occasions. The cheeky smile melts away into a soft sweet smile when he sees his wife. That is what I like about smiles like that. It’s like something special he is saving for the one he loves most. I wish I reserved a smile for my boyfriend when we were together. But I guess not, seeing that we are no longer together anymore. I shall reserve one for the next one.

I have a secret. I like to look at myself in the mirror, up close, before I step out of the house every day. No matter whether I am heading to school or out with my girlfriends or going out to dance or basketball, I like to look at myself before I head out. I like to start with my eyes, examining every detail of them. From my dark brown pupils to the lashes, and finally to my eyeliner… I like to make sure that my eyeliner is symmetrical to each other on both eyes. I like to make sure that the cat eye ends off in the same stroke, and it fades out with the same gradient and the same intensity. It never does. But that is what I like to do. Then I like to look at my nose. I like to make sure they are powdered, no sign of oil or perspiration. Then I like to look at my lips. I will stare at them for a while before applying my chapstick, pause and study at the rest of my features, then decide whether I need lipstick or lip gloss. I usually end up applying them anyway. I like to apply my bright orange lipstick. I don’t know why, but I like it when my lips stand out from the other girls. Then I like to take a step back and smile. I like to practice several smiles before I leave the room. They have to be perfect. I like to turn away from the mirror, smile first, and turn back to the mirror to make sure that I can do the same exact smile which I like without the use of a mirror. Finally, I like to mess up my hair. I will put my Osis+ Dust It powder on my hair first, mess it up in different styles which I wished I had the courage to wear, smile at the mirror in my perfect smile, and then stop after a few poses. After that, I will arrange my hair neatly into what is socially acceptable, before heading out of the room.

I have a secret. I like to think about what it will be like if I went up to people and start telling them what is great about them. I like to think what happens if I went up to the woman in stilettos and tell her, “You’re beautiful, even without the stilettos.” Will she stop wearing the stilettos? Maybe she will exchange her stilettos with my plain, dirty loafers. I like to think about what will happen if I tell my best friend, “Your eyes have always been warm and they twinkle with genuine kindness.” I wonder if she will cry lesser whenever someone hurts her and look at herself in the mirror and be happier because someone acknowledged that her eyes are pretty because it belonged to her, not because of anyone or anything else. I like to think about what happens if I tell my buddy “Your fingers are so long and your girlfriend will be lucky to have your beautiful hands wrapping around hers when she’s cold.” Will he stop caring about his figure and his looks, and be glad that he can give his girlfriend happiness with his sincere warmth from his hands? Will he care less about having a meaningless body-builder’s figure that can only be looked at and appreciated from the outside, but unable to help him speak from his heart? I like to think about what will happen if I tell my professor “You have a sweet smile reserved for your wife. She must be really fortunate.” Will he continue smiling like that to his wife for the rest of his life, even at times when he is upset with her, or even at times when he is upset with himself?

I have a secret. I like to think about what will happen if I start telling myself how beautiful I am. Will I take the makeup off my face? Will I stop caring about little things like whether my eyeliner is balanced? Will I truly think that I am beautiful on the inside? Will I stop practicing smiling in front of the mirror?

Will anyone tell me that I am still beautiful if I stop doing all these?

No one has ever told me that I’m beautiful even when I’m doing all these.

I have a secret. I really wish that I think I’m beautiful. On the inside… I only hope I am. I can’t be sure.

I have a secret. I really wish that in the world, everyone can start complimenting about how beautiful each other are instead of judging how dirty people’s loafer’s are, how thick their makeup is, how fake is his/her smile.

I know you have a secret. You really wish that someone will tell you that you are beautiful. You really wish that the world is such an innocent and great place, only the good and no bad.

Let me share an open secret. The world is cruel. No one will tell you that you are beautiful. Well, maybe, yes. Only your mother or your father, and they are the only ones who mean it. Maybe your husband or your wife, and they truly mean it too. Maybe others, but you will not take what they said to heart, even if they sincerely mean it.

I have a secret. I know the open secret. Yet I wish that it isn’t true. 

Secrets of a (Typical) Insecure Woman © 2012 by Aubystories. All rights reserved.