The problem with a thing of beauty, is that it’s subjective.
What with one man’s meat being another’s man’s poison and all. My not smiling probably makes me look less pretty, but I’m at peace with the fact because I no longer care about looking pretty. I still make an effort to look presentable but my smile is no longer considered a part of my charm by me.
I used to smile a lot and my smile was genuine. It came from that part of my heart where love resides. Then the pageants came and I watched in horror as my mom smiled for me from the audience. Even her posture changed as she cheered me on and painfully bared her milky white teeth as if she had forgotten she was sitting behind the judges, not strutting her embarrased but still smiling self in front of them like I was.
Then came my other nana. My dad’s beloved no-nonsense mother. The beautiful lady who barely smiled and when she did, it made you feel all warm, and fuzzy and special inside and you instantly smiled back without trying to.
From her, I learnt that one of the biggest flaws of my generation was copying a…
