Found: Letters on Love, Life, and God

Let me tell you a few things about Isa. I still can't exactly remember how we got close, all I know is I've had my season of *almost* weekly sleepovers at her cozy home in Whiteplains back when I was going through a dark path in my life. I think I was at the tail end of my depression, and to be around me was like being under a grey cloud of despair. Nevertheless, she still chose to welcome me with open arms. She dug deep in my heart, and showed me the gems she found that I wasn't aware were there. To say that Isa is a beautiful woman inside and out is such an understatement, but it still rings so true. 

She has cheered us on as advocates since day 1. She has taught me to find my voice in writing (I'm a proud fan). She has picked up my crown and put it back on my head countless of times, during moments I wilfully tossed it to the ground. She has laughed at my dumbest jokes and has embraced my weirdness through and through. These are all great things about her, but my favorite is how I can be naked (figuratively and literally) around her, and I'd know I'm still in my safe place, because she is ultimately one of my own.



To the woman who has redefined beauty—

 Wow, you’ve come a long way. 

 Do you remember the time when you wept for hours, because your closest relatives relentlessly teased you about your weight over dinner? You were 14 years old. You tried your best to put on a poker face, but the moment you entered the confines and privacy of your room, your heart exploded into a million pieces, and tears ran down your cheeks. You cried until you gasped for air, struggling to breathe. Thank God you fell asleep. 

 At 15, I’ve seen you secretly covet your classmate’s body. I know you wished to have her built because she was thin and fair and had silky smooth hair. Coincidentally, the boys lined up for her. Your teachers showed her extra favor. Other girls often flocked to her. That’s when you realized that thin, pretty girls really do have it easier. 

 I’ve seen you flip through the glossy pages of Candy and Seventeen magazine, wishing your hair was straighter, longer and smoother. Your legs slimmer. Your stomach flatter. I’ve seen you watch episodes of One Tree Hill and Gossip Girl and wonder where all the other chubby girls were, the ones who had your same frame. You saw them in real life, but you questioned why they were hidden in TV shows and movie screens. If they were do shown, their portrayals were more often than not stereotypical or degrading. I’ve seen you listen to pop music for days, believing that the girls beside Usher were worthy of attention because they bared their flawless bodies and were sexy beyond belief. I’ve seen you subscribe to the world’s standard of beauty, and you inhaled it as the truth, while exhaling your own. 

 When you were 16, I’ve seen you wrestle with your skin and pray the fat away. You were desperate, saving up for Bangkok Pills and slimming coffee, because everywhere you turned, thin was the magical solution: may it be to misery, loneliness, or unhappiness. I’ve seen you stare at yourself in the mirror for hours, poking and squishing parts of your flesh you hated, parts of you you wish could miraculously shrink. 

Finally, you made up your mind. “I will be thin, even if it kills me.” 

 Eventually, you got the body you desired. “I’m a woman now,” you whispered to yourself. But what makes up womanhood? You wondered. You sought the world for definition, turning to culture and society, and what’s popular for answers. 

 You bared your skin. 
You drank like a fish. 
You colored your face. 
You danced like a tease. 
You spread your legs. 
 You let them in.

I’ve seen you say no to yourself a thousand times only to say yes to someone else, or something else. May it be an idea, a boy, or a lie. You’ve chased illusions even if it made your feet bleed. At the end of the line, there’s nothing gained, and as you looked in the mirror, no matter how aesthetically pleasing the reflection was, you didn’t like who you saw. 

 Someone once said, if pretty is all you have, then ugly is all you are. 

 Ain’t beauty a funny thing? We covet it, yet once we have it, it doesn’t give us much clue about our worth. We like to measure it in the externals as we claw our way to reach its standards, standards we don’t even know who created, standards that are so high we’re bound to fall short. And as much as we want beauty to envelop our shells, there’s more to it than that. It goes way beyond skin-deep. 

 I’m glad you realized this at 18. When you decided to take back beauty and redefine it yourself. 

 I’ve seen you fight the battle within you, as you sought the Truth from the Creator of Beauty, the One who designed it, the One who crafted its very essence. The more you pursued the Giver of Beauty, the more you realized you’ve had it in you all along. 

 You’re in a good place now. I see it in your eyes. I see it in the way you burn with passion when you remind others that beauty is a construct you can rebuild yourself, for yourself. I see it when you speak in front of crowds, preaching to people that beauty is an overflow of the soul. I see it when you reach out your hand and pick other women up to help them put their crowns back on. 

 You are the epitome of beauty, not because of your externals, not because you’re close to perfection. Oh dear, you aren’t. You are not beautiful because of what you clothe your body with, or what lipstick shade you wear. You are beautiful because you have finally aligned your heart and soul to the One who truthfully defines it. You are beautiful because you know full well that it has very little to do with the physical and much about the internal. You are beautiful not because of your mere body, but because of the joy in your soul. 

 You are beautiful because you are now living out the truth, that beauty is most certain when when you’re comfortable with you. 

 You’ve come a long way, Danah. You’ve come a long way indeed.

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F21 rings


To my Isabae—