I paint my fingernails purple; it’s a ritual of mine when my they aren’t too bitten-down. I have plenty of colors to choose from, but my choice is always purple. I’m open to change, but I hardly compromise on this ritual. As I’m lost in my thoughts and also worrying about the fumes from the polish, I remember that I need to take my birth control. I’ve run out of pink pills which means that shortly enough, an old friend will be visiting. I also remember that I’m running low on tampons; meanwhile, I’m thanking modern medicine for preventing me from getting pregnant.
When I’m in the shower, I scrub every inch of my body with my soothing soap. I’m not sure when this became a ritual. Sometimes, when my mind is occupied by things causing me anxiety, I work through it through the metaphor of scrubbing everything away. I let what bothers me wash down the drain. In the shower, I’m alone with my thoughts. I can piece through what’s bothering me and I can assemble it into a solution. Scrub it away, scrub it away, scrub it away. The hot water stings my back and tomorrow brings a new day.
I used to loathe what I looked like. I wanted to be everything I wasn’t. Visions of having blonde hair, blue eyes, and a larger chest occupied my mind when I should have spent that time dreaming up new ideas. Instead of putting pencil to the paper, pointing the camera to the intriguing, or assembling another bizarre collage, my thoughts were fixated on looking differently. Meanwhile, I was overlooking features about myself that others said they envied. Now that I’m 20, I know better than to critique how I look. With time came the growth of my chest and I learned to love my brown hair and eyes. I can relax now. I look in the mirror and I like what I see. I decide to project beauty from within me. Looks don’t matter in the grand scheme of things; truly, what matters is personality. I remind myself that when I look in the mirror; I hope years from now it will be second nature.
Confidence isn’t judging others silently in order to make yourself appear better. It took me years to learn that. It’s complimenting others and bringing them up; in doing so, I’ve brought up my own confidence. I used to be so quiet; though I’m still shy, I’ve found a voice. I stand up for myself. Sure, I’m not yet where I’d like to be. There’s plenty of learning to do still, plenty of confidence to grow yet, and I would be lying if I said there weren’t days when I don’t like myself.
But I like the way my purple-painted fingers strike the keys. I like when I write poems. I like pointing my disposable camera at what looks interesting to me, no matter how silly I feel. I like my music and I like singing along to it stupidly. And above all that, I like my ceaseless desire for improvement: a ceaseless desire to do better and be better. With each day I maintain my fundamental ritual: to be constantly improving.
