I believe in intentionality and I’ve struggled to reconcile that in my relationship with makeup.
What exactly am I making up for? Why am I covering my imperfections? My scars are proof I have lived my life enough to be marked. I am so young and look how much I have smiled already. I smile more looking at the traces of my best memories.
So for a while, I stopped doing my makeup.
But, I missed it. And I tried to stay away, but I found myself wanting to expand my expression again.
So now I treat my face like a work of art. I whisper kind things to the reflection in the mirror and the little girl inside. I brush the lashes of my mother’s eyes, framing a twilight lake that cried the same color into mine.
I pamper the roses that my abuela plucked right from her garden and planted in my cheeks. I crack a joke I know would make her laugh, bringing out the same shade in her face.
I highlight the nose that my ancestors handed down to me โ their best survival instincts granting me the freedom to breathe more. I do not mimic with contour the straight, metal bars that they had to break through.
I fill in my eyebrows with dusty brown to help you read my eyes. I want you to know you are seen.
I give myself a kiss when I take the time to outline my smile in lipstick.
I put a drop of blue beneath my right eye, filling in a mark I gave myself as a child to remember that I am only human and accidents happen. Mistakes make a life to savor and both metaphorically, as well as literally, offer us the opportunity to heal. There’s no need to hide from them.
And finally I say thank you to the original artist. I hope to honor the beauty inside of me, inside of you โ in all of us.
Sincerely yours,
Lulu