Of Wisdom and Teeth

It’s our imperfections that make us human and the fact that we try to perfect these imperfections that we become even more human. And nobody ever said that beauty was attained without a little bit of pain.

This was a thing that we had been putting off for some time, more so because my mother was apprehensive and needed to get multiple consultations before going through with it. But safe to say after three months of teeth that clearly didn’t know which way was up my wisdom was pulled out.

Did it decrease the level of intelligence and wisdom I had attained over the years – despite popular belief, no. However, what it did leave me with was pain. And pain demands to be felt.

Quick update: my face resembles that of a monkey or a frog, whichever way you want to look at it. Except you’ll never have a look at it. Now that is wisdom, my friend. Or maybe, more appropriate to our culture, I resemble a betel leaf chewing individual who just can’t get enough of a taste that is bitter and sweet at the same time.

Still, I’ll raise my glass of warm, salty water to the teeth sealed away in a container (which I still haven’t disposed of, mind you) for not doing their job and to the dentist that DID his job, quite marvelously I might add.

In the eyes of the beholder

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She fumbles with her ice blue dress. Her fingers shake as she bites down on her lip to silence a sob. Mascara stains her rosy cheeks and she tastes blood from biting down to hard.

This blasted dress needs to come off.
Her hair needs to escape its perfect placement.
Nothing about this night seems hopeful.
Nothing about this night seems happy anymore.

The dress clings to her body and she wants to tear it apart. Just to get it off. Because nothing about this night seems right. Everything suddenly seems wrong.

Why did she ever think that she looked pretty?
Clearly no one else thought so.
Why did she put in so much effort?
When not a single eye wandered her way, all night.

Because somewhere in her heart she hopes to be beautiful. To be the one that steals breaths with every step she takes, and locks them away. Never to be returned. She wants to maybe tell her daughter someday that she was beautiful.

Life is a work-in-progress.
Soon none of these things matter anymore.
And all you want to do is show up in your pjs.
Who wants to put so much effort anyway?

That night was the worst. A memory that would never fade even if she tried. That dress still hangs in her closet even though all she wants to do is burn it along with all the painful memories.

But life doesn’t work that way.