Narrative Essay on Self-Beauty

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Sometimes, when I lie on my back alone in my room on the rug that prickles my skin, staring at the light blue ceiling. Sometimes, when I lie in bed, the moonlight streaks through the window. Sometimes, when my mind wanders…I’m fearless and flawless. And sometimes, at these dreamy times, I am not an eighteen-year-old prom freak standing in the middle of my floor, facing my mirror, and whispering to myself about how pretty I look. I am not spending thirty tiring minutes shaping one frizzed curl with half a bottle of mouse spray or obsessing over which shade eveshadow matches my outfit. I am not, as my ex-boyfriend used to say, “acting like a girl.” Instead, I am listening to loud music and running all over the place with my tangled reddish brown hair, bouncing up and down as I remove all negative doubts about myself from my mind. I believe beauty is something natural and not to be proved. I am effortlessly and naturally beautiful. I am—“Don’t forget to pluck the hair between your eyebrows,” my mom’s irritating voice that panics me.

“Mom, pl-ea-se stop. I do not need you telling me what to do.” I raise my voice in hope that her motherly concerns and rattle away. As I continue singing, I apply scented cucumber lotion and get carried away with excitement. “I’m going to have fun tonight,” I tell my furry dog, Roxy. His eyes seem as excited as mine. However, as I slip into my polka dot dress, turning sideways and forward infront of the mirror above my dresser, I hunt for flaws, but my dress, ends up being a perfect fit on me. I am feeling satisfied while I brush my hand on the velvety cloth. Yet just when my rollers are about to open up, my mum’s screaming from the bottom of the stairs.“Nicole, did you remember to put mints in your purse?” I don’t respond. Leave me alone, leave me alone, leave me alone. “Nicole, did you..“Yes, mother I put the mints.” Being sarcastic while I carefully walk down the unequal steps in my black heels. Well, I...
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