Satisfaction

I’m surrounded by dresses and curves and legs,  I find myself thinking rather bitterly, glancing down at my strangely-colored dress. Yellow and navy blue with white stripes? I think, I’d rather look like a walking Russian-American-French-Filipino flag than this. At that, another voice pipes in my head rather positively: At least you’re not  a walking monochromatic person thing. The brush tugs at my hair and I finally settle my hair, glancing to my left and seeing two figures in orange and blue. To my right is one with a dark green dress and black cardigan. Rather solid colors, really – and then there was the primary color explosion. All I needed was a slash of red, and then I’d be ready to paint on a canvas.

 

The only confidence I have are my shoes – making me appear 5’3 rather than my lacking 5’1, making my legs look longer than I seem to be. Include the bracelets on my wrist to that list, one on my left and the other on my right. Both of them are a dark blue, seemingly matching the dark blue hue on my (horridly colored) dress. There was my hair, which was cut a week back, hanging slightly down my shoulders, now settled and showing the diamond studs I had in my ears.

And again I think, at least I seem taller.

Dresses and curves and legs, I think once more.

My friend wearing the blue dress comments, “God, your skin is really fair.”

My eyes shoot to the mirror.

Yes, it was.

At that, my confidence pulls itself up and the woman within me smirks rather proudly, striking a pose.  Skin, height, accessories. I was managing, at least.

Or so I hoped.

* * * * *

Pink, orange, peach, blue, green, cream.

I could feel it slumping further and further.

I wasn’t sure if I was going to throw up or collapse in a puddle of tears.

One complained that she already wore that dress before. I forced myself to smile and shook my head, commenting how cute the piece on her waist was. And after, I made myself move to a seat with the friend and another friend, both of them perfect in their dresses – peach and orange, showing their arms.

I shifted uncomfortably.

The event after brought it away. I found myself not caring.

Because envy, I figured, was unsuitable for a mass.

* * * * *

Sweat.

I found myself laughing and singing and yelling, taking pictures everywhere.

Never mind the dress that showed my legs, the wedges that made me taller yet killed my feet with every step. The pain, I think, is physical. But as we hold hands and sing loudly to some grade school pop song, I find out that it didn’t really matter as much. I didn’t mind how sweaty I felt or how sticky my friends were as we swayed to the music. I didn’t mind if someone stepped on my foot or how awkward it was with my initial tablemates. I didn't even mind that the chocolate fountain on the dessert table was gone, or that my parents would possibly see me dancing to my teachers’ songs.

That didn’t matter at all.

We yelled at the camera and videoed for our friends, took pictures left and right, sang off-tune to the pop songs that brought us back to the 2000s and laughed as we joked around the venue.

And again, never mind the sweat.

* * * * *

The night was slowly dying down.

For me, at least.

My feet were aching and my dress was itchy, my hair a tangled mess and my glasses askew.

My family decided to leave, and we did.

However, the euphoria was still there.

I was an afterglow of happiness, even as my batchmates danced in the middle. It was enough, I had decided, and it was time to go home. We’d order pizza anyway, and that somehow made the night better. Pizza and coca-cola and chicken, yes. I eventually decided that food was always something that would make me happy.

So I stripped off the fancy clothing and additional pieces when I got into my bathroom. Messed up my hair and slipped on something more comfortable. Slid on my slippers and ate pizza when it arrived.

The happiness was gone, and I was a confused mess.

Pictures and videos of the night were slowly being uploaded.

I concluded that I had spent the night with perfection, but that conclusion left me feeling the same way I felt when I wore the dress and stared at the mirror.

Undeniably lacking.