I came across a polaroid of planet earth earlier today, hanging on the wall of a serene cafe five blocks from the tower I’m living. It’s idyllic. Earth seems to have that puppy dog eyes look. It made me fantasize and a dreamy sigh suddenly filled the air.
Blue and green remain as the vivid color of it —calm and soothing to the eyes. Yes, colors that splash like waves in the ocean and whirl like leaves into the woods. Colors that stay stunning along with red, orange, yellow, indigo, and violet. But why black and brown seems out of the squad?
Because they are boring, they only portray tears and thorns. They are the saddest shades ever.
That’s how those colors are being defined in general. The bright ones are always better than the dark one —and so the people’s skin tone. Sad but it’s entirely true.
I grew up in the Philippines where brown is our individuality shade —morena. The tan one, the kind of skin you’ll get after flirting with the sun along the shore.
During my younger years, I really didn’t care about my complexion. Being morena wasn’t a big deal for me. I love my color because that what makes me a real Filipina.
But everything seems to change. I’m relinquishing the strong grip with my belief that a Filipina’s skin is naturally tan and it’s perfectly incredible.
I get these words while growing up.
“Why is your skin tone not white?”
“Your younger brother is white, what happened to you?”
“Maybe you’re just adopted”
Those lines have occupied my head. It all made me insecure over someone who has lighter and fairer skin than mine. I even hated my brother for being white. His skin blushes, revealing some thin pinkish tinge on his cheeks when exposed to the sun. He got that mestizo vibe.
It made me think that I’m unattractive because my morena complexion isn’t the definition of beauty.
Perhaps it only confides my race, that’s it.
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I was completely wrong when I believed that there’s nothing special about my color.
Yes, it reveals what race I belong but it isn’t just a “that’s it” case. It’s a bewildering case! Your color is what sets you apart from the people across the globe —in a good way. It isn’t just about your appearance or what you look like. Your color has a deep meaning, it’s the string that ties you from your roots. From the folk who lived a hundred years ago.
Sure, our skin color is special and cool.
But it isn’t the standard of beauty.
Fair or dark, none of these really matter when it comes to being beautiful. Yes, you might tell me that it’s a lie.
It’s actually the truth that seems a lie because we made ourselves believe that the shades of our skin are the basis to say if someone is attractive or not.
Back in my college days, I became insanely pressured of making my skin looks fairer than what I already have. I have let the sharp eyes of society get into my head. I decided to use some whitening soap and lotion. I was desperately filling the gap between myself and the society. I want to wear that hat of belongingness.
But I came back to my senses. I resisted from drenching into people’s standard of beauty. I embraced my color —brown, tan morena (my skin is a bit fairer now though, not completely white). I don’t want to lose the string that ties me with my roots.
Coco Chanel said,
“Beauty begins the moment you decide to be yourself.”
Make that decision now and let your beauty radiates a luminous shade.
Do you know what matters?
The red little thing behind your chest, that’s what matters the most. Let your palm feel every beat of it. It’s gentle and kind. Let the serenity of it take you to new perspective.
You are ridiculously beautiful not because of the face you show to the world. Not those brown eyes that perfectly fits through the rays of the sun. Never the shade of your skin but because of the heart you have behind those unique physical attributes.
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Previously published on “Change Becomes You”, a Medium publication.
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Photo credit: istockphoto.com