Snapback: Stussy | Cropped Top: Topshop | Ribbed Skirt, Heels: Zara | Bag: Fendi (same as here) | Bangle, Necklace: Forever 21 | Bangle: Tiffany | Watch: Gucci | Tourmaline Earrings: Gift from Mom
I had my derma come over my house today because I noticed a tiny but apparent spot on my upper lip that I couldn’t somehow remove with my cleanser or toner. The first (out of five) stage of grief is being in denial, and true enough, I had deluded myself for the rest of the day that it was a wayward mark I haphazardly placed by mistake with my waterproof eyeliner–either that or a scab from a healing pimple. Anyway, I’ve altogether skipped the bargaining and depression stages, and I’m in the acceptance stage–although I’m a bit angrily accepting because apparently, it’s a frickin’ freckle! To top the proverbial cherry on the icing, I apparently have a few tiny ones all over my face, back, and neck that’s faded to near obscurity (almost, but not quite)–brought about by the long hours I’ve spend sunbathing in beaches and my frequent morning runs (which I now have to stop).
Yes, I’m vain, blah blah, I get it. When I graduated High School, the only adjective they used to describe me on my yearbook page was “narcissistic.” When people would flip ope my wallet back in the day, they would see a stack of photos… of myself. Yes, I did #selfies way before iPhones were created–I took them in bathrooms and public places with the VGA cameras of my old mobiles (defunct nokia 6650s and Motorolla Razrs). Don’t misinterpret me though, I don’t think I’m any less beautiful because of my newly developed imperfections–I mean, come on, I’ve always embraced my scars (be it from pimples or surgeries or cuts) and I’ve never had the urge to remove them or to have them grafted despite my dad’s frequent pleas that fall to deaf ears (in fact, I don’t even photoshop them, I really like them, I like everything about me).
What I don’t like are surprises… especially when the surprise involves my face. A scar from a pimple I can deal with probably because it’s something I’ve had ample time to prepare for, unlike a freckle that surfaces overnight from God-knows-where… Nirvana? I don’t feel like me and I don’t like feeling “not” me. I don’t like not being in control of situations and this particular instance caught me off-guard.
Also, freckles are apparent signs of aging and I get really touchy about age when my birth anniversary draws near every year.
I hate getting older. Apart from the obvious that it brings me a year closer to my expiration date (sorry for being morbid), but it also means that I’m burdened with more responsibilities and expectations. Yes, a bit immature but can’t I at least be allowed “wishful thinking?” I yearn for the days when I never had to worry about the gravity of certain decisions I’m making or setting out to create a niche/mark in the world–“grown up talk.” When I was a teen, I was cloistered and happy dwelling inside my lavish clam, reading literature and listening to alternative rock. I’d kill to have that life back!
But if there is one thing constant in this world, it is change and change is inevitable (as I’ve been preaching self-righteously from the beginning of this blog). Nothing is ever reliable and it is pretty much a function of life that at any given moment, things could shift drastically. On hindsight, I should have been equipped enough to deal with whatever is hurled my way. I am a fighter and I was born ready to always counter whatever obstacles that come my way. I just have momentary bouts of weakness, I guess… I’m only human.
Anyway, writing this post, I’ve come to realize I’m getting really petty. I’m trying to shake that thought off. So I’m going to be 26 soon, and I have a freckle. So what! I’m proudly 26 and I have a Cindy Crawford-esque freckle on my upper lip (which is hot, my boyfriend declares). There’s no way of avoiding it… everyone grows older, everyone eventually develops a freckle or a liverspot–the curse of the English, my boyfriend teased (a universal joke apparently, in reference to my mom’s German-English-Irish-whatever roots). So I’ll just put on my Tom Ford foundation, strut and work being 26 with a freckle–like the BOSS that I am.
…Like the boss that I am rocking this street outfit for the Manila Sundance Bazaar (one of the best bazaars ever, read all about my previous experience here) 2 weeks ago, that not a lot of people my age can pull off. This is me and I’m always empowered. Here are some more photos: