The first five synonyms for beautiful according to Google are: attractive, pretty, handsome, good-looking and nice-looking.
The first time we visit the gelato shop that is touted "Rome's best", I do not notice it.
The second time, I pay more attention. The young man at the counter has a strong build and a square jaw and sharp features. He is handsome. He hands me my gelato, smiles and says "have a good day". I smile and I say it back but I do so half-heartedly because his persona was not the same to the Chinese lady in front of me. He was cold, unfriendly and rude, simply because she was not pretty to him.
The third time we visit the gelato shop, another man is at the counter. I make my order - mixed berries, chocolate and strawberry. 3 large scoops because it is our last day. The man hands me my cone, with 3 large scoops of gelato and he smiles. I smile back and say thank you, but I barely manage it because all I want to do is to grin and snatch it from him and fill my mouth with heaven. Too much exaggeration you may think, but I mean it -- heaven in my mouth. I will elaborate further another time. I step out of the shop holding my cone like how a 12 year old holds her trophy for topping the level. I feel like a champion. My brother walks over with his cone and says, "he winked at you and look, your scoops are much bigger than mine". I shift my focus to the cone he is holding in his hands and I realise it is true. His paled in contrast to mine. I laugh, because I feel like a bigger champion. He then says, "just because he thinks you're pretty".
It stays in my head for a long time. Pretty.
On the second last night we visit a nice, quaint restaurant tucked away from Rome's crowd, hidden in a back alley. It is raining heavily and this is the third time we are here. We promise ourselves a good dinner because of our aching feet from climbing 550 steps up the Basilica and walking for a good 8 hours in total. Good food, as usual. After all, where in Rome do you find bad pasta? My brother and dad leave the table for a while to visit the toilet, and the waiter comes over to me and hands me 2 pieces of chocolate wrapped in gold and blue. He hands it over to me and says with an Italian accent and broken English, "You speak English right? Inside, inside there is paper with English, you can read". I say my thanks and accept the gift. I do not open the wrapping or read the note until much later because I feel like melting from shyness.
On the last night, we visit a cafe to get our dinner - seafood spaghetti. Good, tasty, wonderful, out of the world, all-sorts-of-amazing seafood spaghetti. This is the second time we are here. The people are friendly, warm and welcoming. They said I was pretty the first time I was there. This time, the man with a friendly face repeats in chinese, "piao liang, wo ai ni". I say thank you, I repeat it several times but I do not mean it because I keep wondering if he understands what wo ai ni means.
Fast forward to Chiangmai. I am on an elephant and the rider keeps turning to smile at me. Not creepy, nice. I can tell he means no harm. He offers an umbrella -- "special service", my mom jokes. We pass other riders and other tourists on other elephants. Through my shades I see the riders looking at me, smiling at me. My rider engages in a conversation in their local language so i do not understand what they are saying. But it is about me. I know, because they are looking at me. I feel self-conscious so I turn away, thankful that I am wearing shades. Halfway on our trail, we meet 2 caucasian girls on an elephant. They say "have fun!! enjoy your ride!" to my mom and I, and we say it back. Their rider is smiling at me and I smile back. Friendly. A few elephant steps later, the 2 girls are shouting to me, "he thinks you are beautiful! he says you are beautiful!" I shout back "thank you!" and I manage a laugh. But I do feel happy inside, different from how I felt in Rome.
I'll be honest here.
It felt good to be acknowledged, seen, called beautiful. But I am not. I see all my flaws, cracks in my personality and scars on my skin. I am not beautiful because I still think ugly thoughts, I have a thick waist and I do not have crystal clear skin. I am not beautiful because I am not confident of myself. I am not beautiful because I do not think I am beautiful.
But most of all, I think, how can they call me beautiful? Beautiful is not this and this is not beautiful. To me, the word itself is beautiful. It means so much more than having a pretty face and nice-looking features that are pleasing to the eye. I have not called anybody beautiful because I am saving it. I am saving it for the person whose features I am going to want to memorise and miss when he is away. I am saving it for the people I am going to want to learn from, to be, and to look up to. I am saving it for the people who are going to take my breath away and for the people I know that there won't be another out there just like them.
I am saving beautiful for them.
ROME is a beautiful place. I know it because it makes me want to stay, to breathe it in and never exhale. I said it out loud that night when the buildings and streets basked in soft, warm, gold light and music filled the square where young and old couples held hands and sat by the fountain, oblivious to the rest, satisfied in their own world.
this is what beautiful means, to me. I've read enough books to know what beautiful means and I'll know when to say it when I feel it.
I will be beautiful when I can look at myself with ease and acceptance. I will be beautiful when I learn to be more gracious and I will be beautiful when I am a kinder person to myself.
Until then I will only be pretty, and "pretty", just like all the other 4 synonyms, is an empty adjective.
