In truth, I remember my excitement at opening my first tube of mascara. After watching Chanelle and Brooke for years, I was sure I could do it perfect. I'm sure, now with my much more experienced hand, it looks a bajillion times better, but that's besides the point.
I felt magical walking into my sixth grade class. I could see the girls noticing and I felt important. I felt special. There were a select few of us allowed to wear make-up and it felt like we were a band of important outsiders. Who huddled together in the hall discussing what mascara's we used.
Ah, then Centennial. Naturally when a young girl is trying to gain the attention of the male population I felt it necessary to add eye shadow to the mix. As far as I was concerned, the plan worked splendidly. I mean, I had people talking to me. In fact, I had boys HUGGING me. I hung out with them on the weekends. I was practically the coolest thing since sliced bread.
Then came the freshman year when I started Drill Team. I had practices early in the morning and forgot to bring my mascara to school. I felt naked, walking through the hallway on those days. I felt different.
I was startled, however, to find that people weren't shunning me down the hallway. Rather, the opposite. My friends still greeted me before classes and hugged me in the hallways. I wasn't immediately shunned for my lack of eye wear.
Thus came the realization - my make up doesn't make ME. I'm still Aubrey. I'm still loud, I still love to smile and love to hug. I'm still crazy and sporadically break out in song.
Each morning before I go to school, I look myself in the mirror.
That to me is beautiful.
Happyness. Confidence. Laughter.
And the knowledge that I am a child of God.
Because that's what makes me up, not a bunch of powders in little containers.
I am beautiful. No matter what anyone says.