Such a trivial, vain obsession.
Yet, at the same time, so much about what i am now…what i am becoming…hope to become.
i wear it because it is beautiful: because i love the way it looks; the way it lengthens my fingers; gives an unwaranted gracefulness to my hands. For the first time in my life, i can look at a part of my body and think: yes! i like what i see.
But what do YOU see, the casual passer-by, shop assistant, school-gate gawker? Someone who ought not to be wearing make-up at all with brightly painted nails. Blue today, in case you wondered. Pinke yesterday. Green the day before.
And if i ought not to be wearing such stuff, what does that make me? An object of derision? A freak? A threat?
In Boots, a young shop assistant, glanced briefly at my hands, then up at my face. A moment of confusion flickered across her eyes. Does not compute, perhaps flashing on her inner LCD.
i can handle that.
But then there’s the beefy guy stood outside tesco, who glances first at my hands, then scowls at me. Or the smartly dressed young male, sat in a coffee shop today, who kept looking over. Not smiling. Not smiling at all.
my world is not the safe place it used to be.
i do not have to paint my nails. Of course not. i could hide, as i always have: i could pretend to be boringly, safely normal.
But i am not: not any more. So i wear it because it looks beautiful. Because it makes me feel good. Because, at the end of the day, it marks me out as who and what i am… and the world can take me or leave me.
A full ten fingers up at their convention and bigotry. i will try not to think about consequences.