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Beautiful

On a Friday evening, I carried a huge black chair to my terrace ignoring how heavy it was. While I was panting and gasping for air while carrying that chair, I wondered why I was breaking a sweat by carrying a chair instead of partying and clubbing on a Friday night. Well, not much of a party girl I guess.
I felt warm air hit my upper lips as I exhaled some air and took a long breath. Phew! Never thought carrying a damn chair would be so tiring. After I got over the fact that I really needed to start working out, I sat. I sat and stared. Stared at the clouds. The clouds that were so mesmerizing that it made me think. How does it feel to be appreciated by everyone? I mean, have you ever heard anyone say that clouds are unattractive? Have you ever seen anyone contort their face or frown or grimace while watching a sunset? Maybe not everyone gets mesmerized by clouds and the sky and sunsets but nobody scrunches their nose in disgust while staring at the sky either, do they? So I squinted my eyes and glared at the clouds, filled with envy. Nobody tells clouds that they’re judgmental or selfish or stupid or cruel or rude, mean, liar, cheater or what not. But then again another thought hit me like a car hit a dog. Oops! Horrible example. Anyways, a thought hit me, yes. A thought that I’ve never heard clouds or skies or sunsets worry their minds out about who is complimenting them and who’s not. They have never needed validation about their attractiveness. All they do is keep on being beautiful. Their own kind of beautiful.
 So why do I spend hours in the morning choosing what to wear so that people will compliment me? Why do I only post the perfect pictures of me and not the ones where one of my eyes look smaller than the other and my cheeks look chubbier than usual and my hair is sticking out from different directions? If I like the color grey, why do I always wear black just because it hides some few fats from my body? Why do we all always need validation? I don’t think we need it, you know? I don’t think it even matters if we match up to the stereotyped definition of beauty or not. Come on, the world is not a photocopy machine. We all are beautiful in our own way. We are our own kind of beautiful. Let’s be proud of that.

Oh by the way, I am still sitting on that huge black chair on my terrace. 

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