More Real Than Real

It’s taken me 39 years to feel beautiful. I used to honestly think I was ugly, crying and praying that one day I could be pretty like my mother.

I believed I wasn’t attractive because I wasn’t accepted for who I was. I was constantly told what I thought was wrong, that I needed to do things differently, or that I was making mistakes.

Now, I recognize my beauty because I authentically like myself—inside and out. Becoming more accepting of who I am inside has changed how I see myself outside in the mirror.

Sometimes, when I see a beautiful sunset, look at my dog, or notice something truly real, I think, “Oh my God, it’s too beautiful to be real.” But then I remember—it’s more real than real.

We’ve started to believe that fake is real and real is fake, and that’s a danger—to all species, our planet, our souls.

I don’t watch much TV, but I’ve been living at my mom’s, and I see the reality shows looming in the background. Many of the women have so much Botox and filler that they don’t look real—in a way that gives me the ick. Yet, at the same time, it makes me wonder if I’ll be left behind or no longer considered beautiful as I age because I choose not to artificially alter my face.

I choose to stay natural because I believe in my bones that truth and authenticity are beautiful. We've lost sight of this as artificial standards become normalized, pushing us further from what’s real.

Throughout my life, the number one compliment from men has been my smile. I think it’s because my face has full expression and the ability to smile fully. Women who have had extensive cosmetic work can’t move their faces the same way. Sure, they might not have “crow’s feet” like I do (which I prefer to call smile lines), but they can’t fully smile. When did we normalize taking away the ability to express joy—the most beautiful thing in the world, an action as natural and real as a sunset?

I vote for sunsets and smiles. Rainbows, butterflies, horses, mountains, coastlines, dolphins, snowflakes, and waterfalls. Untamed, wild beauty. Things that are singular and unique—one of a kind—more real than real.

Besides, if you can’t express your authentic beauty, how can your soul leap out into the world?

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If My Body Were a Coastline

My thighs would be the Kalalau cliffs—
steep with mystery, ancient with knowing,
a place only the brave dare touch.

My breath would be the tide—
coming and going,
bringing beauty,
holding all the wonder of the sea
with every rise and fall.

And my secrets?
They would lose themselves in the floral wind—
a scent that clings to sugarcane,
that weaves into leis,
laid gently on the heart
so all who breathe me
feel love.