“Ugly” is a four-letter word that infected my vocabulary as a tween. If you were to word-search my 13-year-old brain for it, you’d receive more than 1,000 results. Not enough makeup or outfit changes could erase that dirty word from my mouth, funny enough it would rather encourage the use of it. Rounded glasses sat heavily on my nose bridge and braces over-crowded my mouth letting out an occasional spit when I would speak. At the time I didn’t think I was being so hateful of myself, I believed it was necessary if I eventually wanted to improve my image. My #1 merciless Rebecca supporter. Go, Rebecca! You’re doing AWFUL! Being surrounded by white skinny girls didn’t assist in the harsh criticism either. Watching my crush Hamilton (now thinking about it wasn’t a spectacular name) choose a tall, green-eyed blonde over my 5 ft brown-haired, brown-eyed self, chipped at the little confidence I didn’t even think existed. Did I require a race change and a growth spurt for his attention? Or maybe when Levi from 8th grade rejected me before I had even expressed a breath of my feelings. These were just two of many of what I would’ve considered “tragedies” at the time.  

After using brown eyeliner as an eyebrow pencil and the wrong shade of foundation for two years, I entered high school learning from my past mistakes. I was melting into a sense of satisfaction with my face and body. High school came with a whole new anxiety. With a new and improved complexion, initiated more interactions with boys. Their acknowledgment was what I believed I had wanted all this time besides looking pretty, but it wasn’t. I became hopeful that perhaps my personality was my winning feature, but ultimately it didn’t feel like it. I didn’t receive a feeling of euphoria, a thrill from their attention, instead, it angered me. Where was all this consideration before? Was my face all that mattered? I had formed a new hatred that bubbled inside of me waiting to erupt guts onto everyone. It was a bitter taste in my mouth that I couldn’t wash out. My suspicions were confirmed when I was told by a boy directly that he merely only liked me because I was pretty and nothing else. His defensive response could’ve resulted from my rejection of his feelings, but it unveiled his true intentions. A friendship I had naively thought was founded on honesty and respect crumbled before me. Had I merely obsessed over my appearance for validation from others?  

Yes, I had. I hadn’t done anything for myself. I came to realize that I was upset at others for superficially focusing on the surface, but I had been doing just the same. I was trying to push myself into a small space of standards alongside everyone else, like a bunch of sardines in a can. I had begun loving myself once I matured and shoved everyone’s opinions in a bottle and threw them into the ocean. They would float back occasionally, but I taught myself what truly mattered, my bliss. I had based my stringent assessment of myself on the cruel gaze of the world but acquired beauty by my definition. I regret the heartlessness I submitted my younger self into, how much I could’ve relished in that part of my childhood. How much I could’ve loved myself.  

Our Season

This time of the year, it is our season.
How could this winter be a time of love?
When it should be a time of unreason
Ice skates, hot cocoa, time I grew fond of
I wish i could embrace your hand this time;
Hold it until I am once again warm.
If possible, would it be such a crime?
Cradling our hearts in a snowstorm
Forget that, winter still remains wondrous.
The city veiled with snow is alluring;
Gazing at the flakes fall, all just soundless.
It’s frigid, but inside I am burning.
This time, will I be able to pull through?
This winter won’t be the same without you.

Before entering the café, I caught a preview of what was to come. A single glass door separated two worlds, the one I currently stand in being the cold putrid street with crowds of people and the café’s snug world, full of calm lighting, chatty people, and an abundance of plants. Stepping one foot in, there was an atmosphere of comfort, I think what contributed to it was that it was nighttime. The café depended on dim lighting and soft warm lights from lamps that brightened certain spots. An overwhelming amount of chatter in each corner. Each table was engulfed with the smell of coffee. With each step, you come across plants you must push through and that flutter above people’s heads while they sit. The room is made to be comfier with colored couches, pink, green, and brown. I sink back into the yellow sofa and immediate sleepiness comes over me, but when am I not tired? I enjoyed the calm environment and the velvet feel of the seat. 

 The black mug with a red interior holds my mocha that I feared to taste, would it be too strong? Would it be bitter? It’s just right. The right amount of chocolate filled my mouth although it burned my tongue, I continued to sip. My friend’s muffin crumbled in my hands and discouraged me from trying it despite it looking delicious. Once comfortable, I began to look around the café curious about what others were doing, in front of me sat a couple chatting and laughing as they leaned into each other. To avoid feeling, even more, lonelier I turned behind me where the baristas worked indecently and often give a smile to a customer.  

Suddenly I could smell something other than coffee, something like a botanical garden, a humid scent. Once I looked up there was a plant hanging over us. “Kind of smells like pee,” says my friend which ruined the smell for me instantly. More people came in with their pets, two dogs who jumped from left to right on top of their owners, but I appreciated their silence, no barking. The music began to play very loudly, which made people talk louder, and the comfort was starting to wear off. A glance at my phone as it flashed 9:15 PM, in shock I decided it was time to head home 

You read numerous amounts of literature, scroll through thousands of posts on social media, and watch many films on what it is to be a woman. It is impossible to go through a day without coming across content that isn’t related to women. Especially for me and I bet for many other girls, I surround myself with information and stories, whether it is a new makeup product to purchase, advice from an OBGYN doctor on TikTok, or good and bad experiences people face for being a woman in society. I have been thankful to be present in an era where we can openly speak and write about the life of being a woman, but I now can’t seem to ignore what that life could’ve been for a female in the past, just how much have we progressed and what has remained the same? 

Pride and Prejudice by Jane Austen, a classic. A book I have read three times, and not willingly. It didn’t end up being my favorite novel of Jane Austen despite it being her most famous of all for its romance and for most of all Elizabeth Bennet, a strong female character who didn’t fall into the expectations for a woman at the time. The last time I read this novel, I read it from a unique perspective with the help of my professor. Yes, it was romantic how Mr. Darcy became attracted to Elizabeth, and yes, we admire her denying societal norms her mother, Mrs. Bennet, was enforcing onto her, for her to marry. Elizabeth can be considered a feminist of her time! But when I read deeper is when I realized other aspects of her character. Elizabeth had a friend, Charlotte Lucas, who was Mr. Collins. This was a decision that Elizabeth totally disagreed with because Charlotte wasn’t marrying for romance, instead it was for stability. For all the romantics out there, I know you would agree with her, but let’s think about the time these girls are living in, England during the late 1700s-early 1800s. Women couldn’t own land, they depended on marriage in order to have a home. Although Elizabeth basically shamed Charlotte for her decision, this was her form of survival. Even though we live in 2023 and women have their necessary liberties, we still see characters like Elizabeth today. Many women sometimes need to take necessary actions to survive in this society. Of course, women are capable of so much more things in society now and we deserve the right to do so, it isn’t helpful to judge what a woman must do to survive. There’s no uncomplicated way to just live and ignore your race, your economic situation, your culture, or even your morals. Each woman has their own experience and way of living, and we shouldn’t allow privilege and judgment to shame them for it. 

Perhaps this wasn’t the way Jane Austen intended for her novel to be interpreted, but for me personally, this interpretation opened my eyes in many ways. Society, laws, and rations evolve, but some ideas remain the same, it was surprising for this to be highlighted to me through a Regency Era, a novel written by a white woman.