The Shallows / The Depths

Isn’t it strange that we can never truly see what we look like? We rely on mirrors and cameras, photographs and other people’s perceptions to understand who we are. But our reflections help us develop a sense of self. They play such a crucial role in how we see ourselves. And as much as I wish it weren’t true, how much we believe we’re worth.

From a young age, I knew I could never be the prettiest in the room. I don’t mean to say this for pity; I mean it as a simple observation. My chocolate brown skin and wavy raven hair wouldn’t allow it. The pigment in my skin and my acne scars would mean that I would never be referred to as the ‘pretty girl.’ At least not by Western standards.

Instead, I looked within. I focused on becoming the perfect daughter for my ethnic parents - the kind-hearted, intelligent, funny girl, the token POC friend. I never really cared; after all, I always knew this would be my fate. I would be the audience’s beloved comedic side character, not the beautiful, mysterious protagonist who got the guy.

But despite my knowing, despite anticipating all these facts, I still stand in front of the mirror every morning. I inspect any potential pimples forming and the bags under my eyes. I turn to see whether I’ve gained weight or whether it’s just the shadow in the reflection. I examine the figure that stares back at me. I try to notice the beauty in her big brown eyes and full brows - I try to remember that there’s more to a person than their simple reflection. There is more to every person than the rays of light our eyes reflect to form an image.

So why can’t we be content with what’s beneath the surface? Why do we allow bad angles and reflections to determine our mood? Personally, I think it’s because we can’t help but compare ourselves to one another. If I can’t be the pretty one, I’ll be the funny one. If people fake tan to feel ‘skinny,’ maybe I won’t dread the melanin in my skin. If I use being bilingual to my advantage, perhaps I’ll embrace my culture more.

My internal monologue urges me to accept this and move on. I tell myself that my ability to hold conversations with strangers and be optimistic is enough. That my personality is enough to foster friendships, not the way my hair is or my facial features. These thoughts seem silly when I write them down. When I see my emotions on the pages, the truth is that it’s hard to articulate the feelings which continue to bubble under the surface. I’m not the type to get angry over microaggressions (even though those are valid reasons to get upset). I ignore them; I act calm even if I can feel my face going red and the corners of my mouth start to tremble - I’m the type to smile and laugh, then disappear into the silence of my room. I prefer to do some personal reflection and re-emerge into reality as a better version of myself.

Those are the qualities I practice valuing. Not whether my low iron makes my skin fairer or if my clear skin will help me feel prettier. It’s the ability to transform all the bad feelings that make you despise yourself into something positive. It takes work swimming in the ocean of emotion. The pressure of being underwater could be too much, or it can help you find what you’re looking for. The burden of pain and the struggle of maintaining a smile can vanish if you swim a little deeper. Because usually, what’s under the surface is more beautiful than what meets the eye - and that’s something you could never gather from a simple reflection.