More than a Woman by Celestine Lau
Provided by THINK

Does tripping over stairs and wearing baggy jeans disqualify me from being a real woman?

My friend loves telling this story to others.

It was a typical day at college and the two of us were rushing to class. She was ahead of me as we ran up the stairs to the entrance of our college. Just as I was about to clear the last stair, I tripped.

Now, I’m pretty used to tripping, especially when stairs are concerned. Hiking down Mount Kinabalu, I twisted my ankles 36 times. I’ve had more than my share of dark purple bruises, infected cuts and bleeding scratches from falling up or down the stairs.

This particular incident stands out though, because I tripped, quite literally, into the arms of a guy. Some would say it was fate. We fell into love at first sight.

Yeah right.

I certainly wasn’t the damsel in distress he was waiting to rescue. Neither was he my knight in shining armour (although judging by the amount of gel in his hair, he probably thought he was). He just happened to be at the wrong place at the wrong time. Had he stepped aside, I would have had enough runway to land back on my feet. But no, he had to open his arms as if he were embracing an old friend, scare me out of my skin and then give a half-hearted attempt to stop me from falling. So I landed on the floor very noisily, and was left to pick myself up from the ground.

I admit I’m not being very fair to him. After all, I’ve been a total klutz all my life.

HEAD OVER HEELS
I’m not the girl my mother imagined I’d be. I was gawky, lanky and had an innate dislike for makeup. I laughed in loud guffaws. And I couldn’t sit properly at the dinner table. When other little girls were preening in front of the mirror, I was climbing trees and scraping my knees. When they were putting on Mummy’s pearls, I was prancing around in Daddy’s shoes. Mum had to practically force dresses over my head.

I haven’t changed much since then. I still laugh in loud guffaws, can’t sit properly at the dinner table and feel most comfortable in a pair of beat-up jeans and a T-shirt.

Recently, an older woman light-heartedly berated me for not dressing better. I know her well, and recognising her good intentions, I explained I was just recovering from a bad case of flu and wasn’t particularly in the mood for anything potentially hazardous to my wellbeing (such as heels).

When I told some of my friends about the incident, they were mildly shocked and wondered why on earth she would say such a thing. Yet while I was glad my friends didn’t see a problem with how I looked, I had to agree with this woman a little. Appearance isn’t everything, yet it does carry some importance. Since women have been given all the opportunities to look beautiful, why not make use of it?

SKIN DEEP
I can’t be bothered with high-maintenance grooming, but I do like whipping on some girlie stuff occasionally. Girlfriends have taken the liberty to put the occasional scarf around my neck, or hat on my head, or bangles on my arms, and then nod their heads in enthusiastic agreement of their own tastes in fashion. I have discovered a certain feel-good factor that comes with being happy with how I look, and it does make me feel better about myself.

But some girls have it easier than me. They look better in certain clothes. They exude their femininity naturally. They have grace, poise and elegance. They don’t trip on their heels down the cinema stairs, sliding from row H to F. They frequently attract the attention of guys. They are the typical damsels in distress that guys dream of rescuing.

So does that make me, a non-typical exemplification of femininity, less of a woman?

THE DEFIANT DAMSEL
Passing comments, disappointments and hurts have made me think long and hard about this. Perceptions and trends come and go about what makes a woman, what beauty means, and who best embodies the true definition of a woman. But is there such a thing as being less or more of a woman?

I think not. I am a woman, through and through. I want to be appreciated. I want to be loved. I want to be found beautiful, if not physically, then in many other ways. Perhaps by how I encourage people. Perhaps by the things I create with my fingers. Perhaps by making people laugh. I have emotions like any other woman. I hurt. I have mood swings. I battle with self-esteem. I feel vulnerable. I feel selfish.

And I believe I have something unique to offer this world that no one else can. We’re all made different for a reason. As I journey to discover more of who I am and can be—a woman—I am grateful for friends who accept me as I am, and love me for it; friends who hold my arm when I walk up the stairs and tell me my bruises look cool.

Celeste has only one belief: that all cows - whether cartoons, soft toys or models - must have spots and an udder, otherwise they are only half-cows. Yup, she's a copywriter.

Original article can be found here

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