We Are Who We Are, Who We Are, Who We Are...

She had been looking forward to it, quite unconsciously, for a long time. Whenever a fleeting thought of the big day had run through her mind, she had felt an aching eagerness. Finally the day arrived. All through the morning, whenever she caught her passing reflection on a mirror, she smiled to herself. Her plain friend received insults gift wrapped to sound like wistful compliments. 'Oh she is very simple. That's a great thing, you know?' with a smug smile that said, 'I am glad I am not you. Wait till they see me this evening.' It was not deliberate. She just couldn't help herself.

That evening, she made her grand entrance, clad in flowing silk, her hair pulled up in a sophisticated bun, fake diamonds sparkling on her neck and wrists. She walked delicately, her skirts swirling about her, golden embroidery flashing in the dim lights. She waited, with bated breath, for the compliments to start pouring in. People smiled politely at her. They talked to her, answered her questions, but none said the words that she wanted to hear. She could not catch anyone, especially the young lads of her age, stealing a glance at her. Suddenly every other woman in the room seemed more beautiful than her. She felt a stab of envy at her friend who was dressed simply. 'What is the point in all this?' She felt weary and defeated.

She returned home earlier than she had planned and stood looking at herself in the full length mirror. As her glance travelled from head to toe, she found all her faults glaring at her. Her hips were too wide, her arms too chunky. The wisps of hair that had been carefully left loose to frame her oval face, now seemed vulgar to her. The mascara, that had earlier in the evening served to make her lashes look longer, delicate and more feminine, had smeared slightly by the side of her eyes. The sight irked her. She was ashamed of her anticipation. She blushed guiltily at the thought of the evening as she would at a kinky sexual fantasy.

She sat down and removed every trace of make up on her face, slowly, deliberately. She stripped, stood under the shower, scrubbed her face and hair, until she felt clean. Then she donned an old pair of pyjamas and a shirt. The night heat was oppressive as she opened the windows to let the breeze waft in, if there ever was one. The cotton of her shirt felt good as it met her skin. Now, in front of the mirror, she ran her fingers over her translucent skin, with a child like fascination. Her ears felt colder than the rest of her body against the strands of damp hair. Suddenly she felt strangely weightless... and almost beautiful. But only for one passing moment.

'Its a pity,' she thought, 'there is no one to see me now.'