Narine

I’ve had this issue for a while now.
Every time I attempt to look ‘pretty,’ there is this inherent voice inside me that tries to stop it. I’m unsure why, though, but it’s becoming really tiresome.

Am I afraid that people will think that I’m trying too hard?
Is it that I think that putting on make-up (or anything, for that matter) is like putting on an unrealistic mask to fool people into thinking that I’m pretty?
Is it because that I believe that I don’t have to LOOK pretty if I want worthwhile people behind me, because they would (obviously) see more than just the face?

I don’t know. But I dress down rather than dress up. I try to stop myself from reaching to lip gloss or powder. I have never worn spaghetti straps in public.

Is being plain what I am?
Or should I indulge myself when I feel like being pretty one day?

Why should I let what you think of me matter?

So what if I seem to be a bit ‘kikay’ or superficial if I DO dress up as pretty? I know I’m not superficial. And isn’t that all that counts?

Am I just saving the ‘plain’ me for special occasions so that when I transform into the ‘pretty’ me, the effect is even bigger?

I don’t know.
Perhaps if I’m just not comfortable in dressing up, then perhaps I really shouldn’t. I should ‘be myself.’
But what ever happened to ‘going out of your comfort zone’?

Hmmmm.

How very elusive. Wouldn’t you say, dear reader?

Perhaps because everything in this world is fleeting, temporary.
And perhaps because my very soul yearns for something that is more than just a quick rush of thrill or a quiver of excitement or a genuine smile.

All of them disappear and wane at the end of the day.

My little patch of heaven, according to a friend of mine, is found in the company of books. To some extent, this is extremely true. Whenever I enter a bookstore, I am enveloped in a little bubble of giddiness. Although, of course, I am saddened by the fact that I cannot read two books at the same time. Still, I am elated whenever I enter a big bookstore. I could die happy.

But this isn’t it.

As much as I adore family gatherings, as much as I adore long car rides with good music, as much as I adore having worthwhile and random conversations with friends, as much as I adore being praised and being recognized for me, as much as I adore finding a cute guy and gushing over him in the mall, as much as I adore finishing a good book, as much as I adore laughing, it’s still not what I’m hoping to find.

And perhaps that sounded a bit vain, I admit. I tell you, readers, that I really am HAPPY with my life. I find that I have more than I need. But be that as it may, why is there an inherent pull inside myself that nags me about something more? Something that won’t fade in the hands of time?

Perhaps I’m just complicating my life. If I’m happy, then just be happy, right? Maybe.
I wish God would help me with this one. Perhaps my true happiness lies within His kingdom… Because I am not meant to be in this temporary home we call the Earth.
But what about those who don’t believe in Him and His kingdom?
What of them?

Hm.