There was a provincial 13-year old girl who was small, skinny, and very shy. Her grandmother told her that she was quite intelligent but she was not beautiful, both of which she believed. She loved reading stories from her textbooks. She had few friends and she did not do well in sports. In fact, she hated Physical Education. She wanted to sing, but her grandmother frowned upon singing (perhaps because she herself could not sing), and had her learn to dance swing and cha-cha instead. She drew little comic strips and made paper dolls, and she wanted to be a fashion designer.
This girl believed she was in love with a local heartthrob. She would carry this infatuation for most of her high school and college years, and she did not have a single boyfriend because she thought she was not beautiful enough. She cried easily and she hated confrontations.
There was this woman in her thirties who knew she was not really beautiful, but she was very attractive. She also knew she was smart; she will write books, and after a masters' degree in business administration, she will study Law. She had just a couple of close friends, but she was popular and well-liked. She did videoke sessions on weekends and will try belly-dancing... or perhaps pole-dancing. She dabbled in photography, did drawings in pointilism, and wrote blogs in her free time, while keeping old-fashioned diaries in the bottom of her closet.
This woman was married to a kind, good-looking man who understood that women have wings, and sometimes needed to fly on their own. She looked at love with a critical eye and believed that life needed to be lived fully. She preferred to fight quiet battles, but she was a formidable opponent of discourteous service crews and rude credit card agents, and she itched to sue crooked subdivision developers who sold substandard townhouses.
The 13-year-old girl would have been pretty amazed if you had told her that she will grow up to be the tough woman. In fact, she probably would not have believed it. But the little girl was tough, and even then, perhaps a part of her knew that one did not have to wait for the good things to come. One had to go for it and claim those good things for her own.
Because if one believed hard enough, nothing is impossible. Ask the woman.
This girl believed she was in love with a local heartthrob. She would carry this infatuation for most of her high school and college years, and she did not have a single boyfriend because she thought she was not beautiful enough. She cried easily and she hated confrontations.
There was this woman in her thirties who knew she was not really beautiful, but she was very attractive. She also knew she was smart; she will write books, and after a masters' degree in business administration, she will study Law. She had just a couple of close friends, but she was popular and well-liked. She did videoke sessions on weekends and will try belly-dancing... or perhaps pole-dancing. She dabbled in photography, did drawings in pointilism, and wrote blogs in her free time, while keeping old-fashioned diaries in the bottom of her closet.
This woman was married to a kind, good-looking man who understood that women have wings, and sometimes needed to fly on their own. She looked at love with a critical eye and believed that life needed to be lived fully. She preferred to fight quiet battles, but she was a formidable opponent of discourteous service crews and rude credit card agents, and she itched to sue crooked subdivision developers who sold substandard townhouses.
The 13-year-old girl would have been pretty amazed if you had told her that she will grow up to be the tough woman. In fact, she probably would not have believed it. But the little girl was tough, and even then, perhaps a part of her knew that one did not have to wait for the good things to come. One had to go for it and claim those good things for her own.
Because if one believed hard enough, nothing is impossible. Ask the woman.
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