self care sunday with undertones of feeling gross and disappointing
let’s start on friday evening. it was a long, stressful day at work, and it’s my first time over at their house. i had just met their roommates with our arms around each other as they used yoshi to main while playing super smash bros.
soon, we’re getting ready for bed, and it feels like a platonic sleepover, even though it’s more than that. their bathroom is so lived-in and homey that i don’t mind the dirty clothes in the corner behind the door stopper and the counter top littered with skincare and brushes.
we’re washing our face with vanicream cleanser when they notice a small blemish on their chin and say how annoying and bad their skin is. i proceed to look in the mirror at my pasty, splotchy, scarred and zit-covered mess of a face and internally roll my eyes. but then, a surprise.
we rinse our faces, and i groan about forgetting my products. don’t worry, you can use mine. and then, they rub niacinamide on the tips of their fingers and delicately wipe their pristine skin onto my crusty ass face in circular motions.
but all i can think about is how gross my skin must be to their touch, and how abnormal they think my pulsating organ is if they think their skin is bad. i say, this is the real princess treatment. oh please, you’re eating it up. and i smile because they’re right.
but, why were they doing this good deed for me, assuming they find my skin revolting? are doing good things for the wrong reason still kind? did they do it regardless of my shitty skin because they wanted to, or did they do it because they thought it was the right thing to do? did the difference matter?
fast-forward to the next night - my friend has talked about cutting my hair for weeks now, and i’m ready because the sides of my head need a clean shave, and i’ve been imagining a shag on my head for a while.
so she has her new trimmers and shears, and she’s delicately measuring the proportions of my head with a comb after watching a youtube preview on how to cut hair two minutes before. i cut my uncle’s hair all the time, don’t you worry. as she makes the first incision, she jokes, did i tell you i accidentally cut his ear. i stifle a snort, so she doesn’t cut my own.
a few hours and many reassurances later, my hair is… interesting. but slowly, growing on me. because if my parents saw this hair on me, they’d be revolted. and that’s exactly the cut i’m going for. i look like kristen stewart walked out of the 80s with my shag mullet, and i’m seriously falling in love. but my poor friend thinks it looks like shit, and i can tell she’s spiraling. (i think it’s hilarious that she thinks my new fav hairstyle looks awful.) but all i can think is how affirmed and queer i feel during pride month.
i shower, and style my curls and new shag hair, and we both admit it’s growing on her. and again, i wonder how someone has taken care of me and offered a heartfelt service even though internally, i’m sensing that they feel negatively about the experience.
are these people secretly mad or disgusted with me? is their internal monologue relevant? why am i overthinking and worrying when i’m still the one benefitting?
and just like that, i breathe and remind myself that i’m in their bathrooms, not the void of my own mind. i separate the tension in my stomach from my appreciation for them and the kindness they have shown me. and i keep smiling with them.
as my thoughts of shitty skin and slightly mishappen shaved sides subside, i allow my breath to wrap around these emotions and carry away worry into the room while i fall asleep next to each of those two warm bodies. i am more than my body to people, the same way my mind is more than a space to get lost in.
we’re all just experiences hoping to be shown off and translated into something concrete, even though we all slip through the cracks. but intentions are the tethers we choose to live by and to treat others. and these moments taught me that their intentions are stronger than my fears and insecurities ruining perceptions of memories.
we are auras hoping to be seen and collected, even if we’re not quite sure what we are ourselves. and even though i lived those memories in my mind rather than my body in the moment, i’m glad the memories of them remind me to be a more honest, intentional and present version of myself now.