*Flashback 2002*
Me standing in my small, yellow bikini, my flesh red from the numerous belly flops I performed short moments ago. My chubby tummy and skinny legs basking in the sunny glow and enjoying what I claimed to think was the ultimate vacation. At the mere age of six, confidence oozed out of me like a waterfall. I was so sure of myself and life since I didn't even know what hardships were, that I seemed to attract positive energy. I enjoyed every breathing moment that passed for my whole family was together. And although I had my fair share of baby fat, I still had the guts to venture out in a small bikini.
*Present 2010*
My mother's hand appears from the side of the curtain. I quickly grab the item it is holding and usher her hand away with my voice. I complain that I want to go home and read, yet my mother is standing her ground while she is raiding the clothes racks like a tornado. Oh, how I despise shopping with such intensity, only my notebook and laptop know. I pull the thin silk onto my body and stare at the mirror in front of me with pure disgust I don't plan to conceal. I hate the way I look. My long, blonde hair is way too messed up and my scrawny chicken legs my father generously gave me through genetics did me no good. Although the black silk dress was exquisite, I just didn't have the confidence, or the guts for that matter, to pull it off.
My mother pushed aside the bland curtain and stared at me with her all too well known critical eye, scoping out for imperfections. She stared a little longer while I spun on the spot. She then declared she loved the dress and it would be a true horrid outcome if we weren't to buy it. Truth be told, I loved the beautiful dress too, I just didn't have the confidence to strut my stuff. I just didn't.
Confidence is what some teens and frankly, anybody in the world can lack. I just happen to be the president of it all. I am fearful of other people's opinions that I don't listen to what one of my most important organs tells me. I am so scared of flat out rejection that I don't even explain to my mother why I don't wish to wear that dazzling dress in public. I like how that dress shows off my few assets and how it manages to hide some of my biggest problematic areas and yet, something stops me from slipping into the fine fabric and keeping my chin held high. I sometimes pause and stop to look at my baby pictures. They convey pure bliss and confidence without being over the top arrogant. I look at some pictures of me in a yellow dress doing the splits. I marvel at how non caring I was of other people's different opinions. And I try. I really do try to keep my shoulders square and my eyes open. I try harder each day and I keep on pushing. I won't stop until I'll get into that dress . . . but until then, I can still slip into it when no one's looking and pirouette while signing autographs.
Keep your head held high,
booksRus
