Little things
Observing subtle changes from the past year: a very warm autumn, one year of marriage, and a budding self-esteem
It almost feels like summer won’t end here in Texas. A day after the autumn equinox, today feels like a somber August. Outside is 101 degrees, though the summer chorus of crickets and cicadas are absent, replaced instead by a quiet slowness in the air. Even the grass around us now shows different hues of brown, less yellow from simply being scorched by the heat, and more red, a hopeful indication that cooler days are on the horizon.
Sometimes change is obvious: how the world looks the morning after a thunderstorm, the first day at a new job, children moving out of the house. Sometimes it is as subtle as the coming of this fall.
Does being 26 feel different, Michael asked me during my last birthday. A shrug, not really, nothing's changed. I still drink coffee the same way—black, poured-over at home, latte at a coffee shop—and own the same wardrobe from last year, with the addition of new socks and a gifted pair of jeans. Talking to strangers still makes me anxious, and I’d still choose staying home over going out any day.
Little things have surprised me lately, though, like looking in the mirror and seeing near-invisible variations of the same reflection I’ve been seeing the past few months—
1
While perusing old emails, I was mortified to read how apologetic I was for asking a question. So sorry to bother you! Only if it’s alright! I don’t mean to trouble! I apologize, and thank you! Sorry to stutter! Revisiting an old self is truly not for the faint of heart, and while I was embarrassed to read those emails, I mostly felt sad for the girl who wrote them. The misplaced shame from taking up space and the fear of being seen that can only be the result of being previously punished for visibility; I still remember it. That I can now ask for what I want with a straight back, a brief sentence, and only the mildest of nerves is a gradual change that has spanned years.
2
Too often in the past year did I say out loud, should I get bangs again, and Michael would just laugh. You should if you want to. It was with full bangs that I came of age and began to form my identity, so when I imagine myself I often still picture its silhouette on my face. I knew I wanted them, looked good in them, but was it a commitment I was ready to make once more? (For anyone who finds this overthinking about hair dramatic, I genuinely envy your lack of concern for self-appearance). In June, I finally decided to return to my classic look.
The familiar brush on the forehead and the way it framed my face felt comfortable to have again, but very quickly it felt like a reunion with an old friend I realize I have drifted apart from. It looked as lovely as I expected it would, but there was a detachment from my new, old reflection. There was a tender sadness in coming to terms with that. That the way I see myself and wish to present myself to the world has changed despite my desire to hold onto what was. I am letting my hair grow out now.
3
Still on the matter of physical appearance—
When my acne was at its worst, I remember pleading to any god that would listen, please just give me clear skin. I couldn’t stand to be looked at, but performing well as a student in a small school meant that I was expected to constantly be perfect in all aspects; anything short of that was subject to a very public humiliation. Hala, anyare sa mukha mo, a classmate once asked, innocently enough, genuinely confused that my once-clear, adolescent face was now marked with blemishes. Uy, mas mataas ako kay Lian ngayon, someone would announce when my marks were lower than usual. Matalino ka nga, pero dapat maganda rin! Sayang naman ‘yung noo mo, a teacher once said, highlighting the bloom of teenage acne on my forehead like it was a demerit to the perfection I was so close to achieving. Their gazes on the bumps and breakouts felt hot on my skin.
I carried those insecurities with me for a while. Once I left the small pond of my high school, I actively protected the newly-gained invisibility of being a freshman in college. Kept my head down. Avoided situations where I would be the center of attention. Pressed layers of concealer and foundation onto the dark spots on my cheek. Wore full bangs and thick-rimmed glasses. I put in the work required, and nothing more.
Nobody really cared about my bad skin, probably, but it had been hard to shake off the expectations that came from both the small world of my school and the world at large that constantly bombarded girls with messages that nothing less than perfect is acceptable, even though its ongoing definition was contradictory and ever-changing.
Now, though the hormonal acne has greatly died down, its scars remain on my face. I’ve accepted that they are a part of me, and will be forever. Some days the shame flares up, but I’ve mostly stopped caring about what people may think when they see me, blemished and human. It is liberating.
4
As of last week, Michael and I have been married for a year. Like turning 26, celebrating one year of marriage almost felt like just another day. It was and wasn’t; a milestone, however arbitrary, is a milestone.
Counting the years we had been dating, Michael and I have been together for almost six years. Little things have certainly changed, but I like to think the foundation of our companionship has not: aligned values and the capacity to make conversation. We like to talk a lot, and I don’t exaggerate; we’ve literally spent entire days, morning to afternoon, conversing. We would jump from debating about an issue that came up on the news to gossiping about so-and-so to daydreaming about who we want to become, all while making lunch or tidying up the house. That we continue to speak meaningfully with one another six years into this relationship is something I never take for granted.
To celebrate the anniversary, I drafted an entry about how we met and became partners, but my storytelling didn’t feel quite right. I’ll save that for another day.
It’s been a few hours since I started drafting this, and now a storm had just passed through. The rain was mild, its sound against the roof soothing, and the distant thunder grumbled softly, almost like a lullaby. The forecast says tomorrow will still be warm and cloudy, but that Tuesday may finally be a cool day with highs of 80 degrees. I’ll believe it when I see it is my mantra for the unpredictability of Texas weather, but my fingers are crossed nonetheless. Wish us luck.
I've always seen growth as an awkward and uncomfortable (at times, even mildly painful) process. There's satisfaction at the end of it, sure, as with all things that required a little sweat, a stretching of muscles that were not used to movement. But there is a beauty and loveliness to it that I often overlook (as a result of my saturnian habits - perhaps I would learn to grow from this as well), and this piece reminded me of that - a venusian reality check, which is always welcome and necessary.
All this to say: thank you for sharing this, my dearest friend. I know I rarely comment, but please know that I always look forward to your writing. Growing with you has been - and is - one of the things I am most grateful for. Wishing you calmer and more stable weather ahead, as well as energy and protection from any storm that might appear on the horizon.
Thank you Lian for this. I enjoy hearing more about you, your life there in Texas, your life before knew you and of course about your life with Michael.