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05-28-03 - 11:53 p.m. Do you ever think about what it truly means to be beautiful? Is it our physical form, our bodies, our complexions? Or is it something deeper, like our hearts and our minds? Sharon once told me that it's not our skin which makes us beautiful, rather it is our experiences and how we deal with them, whether we succumb to adversity or rise above it. She said that pain in itself is no pretty thing, but that strength and perserverance are gorgeous. She said that I was beautiful for having survived fourteen years of daily tortures, rapes, and emotional battery. That even though I was scarred, more mentally than physically, I would one day be able to shed the skin of my past to reveal my glowing, radiant future�her words, not mine. Looking good has always been one of my foremost concerns. I'm a model. It's how I earn my living. So looking hot is more of a necessity than anything else. Yet today, brushing my teeth and examining myself in the mirror, I couldn't help but wonder...if the people who see me, who think I'm hot, knew who I really am, would their opinions change? If they judged me not by my abs but by my hands, they'd see me as a scarred freak. Or would they? If they knew the reason for the scar on my cheek (getting beaten with a candlestick), would they ignore it the way they do now? My mother was a beautiful woman. She, swear to god, looked like Vanessa Williams. But she was terrible. She hurt my brother and me so much that even though she was drop-dead good-looking, we both thought she was hideous. Whereas Sharon... was rather plain-looking. Your typical Japanese lady. Except that she had this heart and this way with words and this warmth that seemed to glow about her. She literally would light up rooms when she entered them, everybody revolved around her because she was so warm and giving and bright. She saved my life, gave me a reason to want to live, showed me that a family can be a blessing, and that love is something to be taken seriously. She and George adopted me when I was sixteen and I finally felt what it was like to belong, to be loved, and it was like seeing the world for the first time, and I felt beautiful. There haven't been many people in my life who've been able to make me feel that way. Oh, sure, I'll get stupid boys telling me my ass is hot or my eyes are stunning, but that's just on the surface. And who gives a damn about that anyway? That's why I just have to laugh when I see women piling on the makeup and going to extreme lengths to improve their appearances, like they think that making themselves perfect on the outside will cure what really ails them. You can't fill a barrel by painting it. If you're empty inside, your looks don't matter. I know that one day I will be able to look at myself in the mirror, scars and all, and think, "You know what? I really am beautiful." It won't come for a long time, but when it does, it'll have been worth the wait.
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