Dumbo was the first name she was called. It was a reference to a movie she had not seen and still has not seen. Her ears were the first part of her body to be scrutinized, judged and ridiculed. It was the first time she went home, stared at
(more) herself in the mirror and didn't like what she saw.
Soon after, she learned to break down her body into parts, each judged with a value of ugly, normal or perfect. Some parts of her body, ones that other more perfect specimens took for granted, became her life struggles and in the quicksand of her turmoil, she lost her sight.
"Honey, it's hot outside. Change into some shorts and come outside," her mother told her.
"I will in a minute," the daughter said but she went to her room and listened to records with the window open. "No one's going to see these thighs in shorts," she whispered to herself.
The ugly list grew: ears, thighs, skin, hair. The ugly was slowly covering her entire body. Teeth, weight, lips, eyebrows...a resignation overcame her as she began to understand;
She was no longer a collection of assorted parts, some ugly, some normal and some perfect. She was whole again, just like she was before Dumbo. Before scrutiny and judgement and ridicule. She had emerged on the other side, a new complete person.
Only ugly.
But strangely there was no peace in it. There was no comfort or serenity in this new wholeness. On the contrary, it felt like a lie but an inescapable lie. Imposed on herself.
In this moment she began to write her scripture of the golden eternity, "All these selfnesses have already vanished. There is no skin that can hold me. Only rain can touch me."
(less)
