Maintain, the verb, related to the noun maintenance, is derived from the Latin expression manu tenere meaning literally to "hold in the hand," To maintain means to sustain, and to a large extent, this preservation is a primal instinct. All living things are genetically coded to have the will to survive, the Impulse to live.
I believe there is Beauty in choosing to maintain something. That despite our impulse to do it anyway, at the centre of this choice is something sweet, like kindness, and compassion.
Once in two months, I go to this threading salon two blocks down from me. My eyebrows are unruly and I have a bad track record in maintaining them myself. For over two years I kept shaving them. Why did no one love me enough to tell me I looked terrible... my eyebrows looked bitten off…. a train could have run through them.
Anyway, this Gujarati woman I see each time greets me with a smile on her face. I take off my several jackets and sit down on the swivel chair and she looks at me inquisitively, sort of tilting her head to examine my face. To see why I have come. Eyebrows? she asks, and each time, I look at her embarrassed a little, grin with chagrin, and nod.
I have to hold my skin taut. The mechanics of it fascinate me. The whole thing is unnecessarily intimate. One end of the thread is between her teeth, another portion is held by her hands (between both indexes and thumbs), and another is directly on my skin, ripping hair from follicle so fast, my pain receptors can't keep up. It is painful. Only a little, but I wonder why we do it to ourselves each time. It scares me a little the extents we go to like ourselves, but it also makes me feel a little proud for surrendering control in this way. It feels like an act of kindness, and I feel like I’m growing up. It’s a layered feeling. Like so many jackets.
She always speaks to me, and asks if I’m Bangladeshi each time. I inadvertently code-switch, wind up speaking to her in Hindi in due course of the conversation. I find that my syntax has worsened from disuse. Her voice is low and kind of threatening, but her disposition is calm and puts me at ease. One time, I bought a nose ring from the beauty supply store and asked her to help me put it on out of desperation and she obliged with no hesitation. We look after our own, she told me. I experience the Sublime to some extent when I get my eyebrows threaded.
Sublime comes from the Latin word sublimus, which is derived from sub(up to)+limen(lintel, a supportive, horizontal beam, located above doors, windows etc). The sublime is that which creates a sense of awe and terror. Sublimation is also a Change of state from solid to gas without the experience of fluidity.
Beauty is value positive, intrinsic, and objectified.
"That which, when seen, pleases"- has properties of "integrity, proportion, and clarity."
I think I went almost all of my life without considering myself beautiful. This fate only seems to befalls the most beautiful women. My face is extremely disharmonious and this has been something I’ve always been acutely aware of. I distinctly remember when every Friday, all the children in my school would gather in the courtyard, form lines, and stand in ascending order of age, Shailaja Aunty (principal) would speak to us about life and the world and things that happened in school. Her voice would drone and sometimes she would shriek and that would catch my attention, but mostly I would look around. At girls older than me, younger than me, and wonder if I would be prettier if I had Shreya's eyes and Navya's height and Kamya's smile and anyone's hair but my own. I hated my hair. Two braids, thick and oiled. I didn't hate my face yet but I would perform this operation, sew other people's body parts into my body just for fun. It was gory, but no malice was intended. It was just observation and comparison. Note-taking.
I was so young. I’m not sure why we do this. It's gotta be blood-memory. Everything relies on us hating ourselves. So they can sell more shoes and weight loss supplements. I changed my modus operandi from violence to tenderness. I pierced my nose on the side I like less. I hold a more pacifist stance towards my body and my face. I have mercy on myself. Sharon Olds calls this a religious conversion.
I’m not sure if Beauty can be achieved only through suffering. All things suffer anyway. It seems to me the natural order of the world. I am not the centre of everything but I see my reflection on everything. I delight in what I am looking at, Ignore myself as much as possible. It feels so divine, whatever this is. I think I’m becoming beautiful as a result of it.
This Spurning has been so Integral to granting me liberation from the fascist in my head. There are only sweet sounds, only soft ones now. Very easy to harmonise with. Hating yourself (subject to interpretation) gets boring when you do it long enough. It’s just not a sustainable way to live.
Liking yourself (subject to interpretation) is tough and probably the only real life-long project all of us undertake. We spend our whole lives trying to make peace with ourselves and then we RIP. Sick and twisted. Acording to me, Liking yourself is THE most radical thing you can do. I am doing it to spite myself and everyone else. I’m also realising it is a skill. The more you do it, the more naturally it happens. It is necessary to have patience with yourself while still learning. Amma says to treat yourself like you would treat your daughter. I think this is a fantastic rule of thumb. When finding it hardest to be kind to myself, I treat myself like I treat someone I love. A friend, or a lover or a parent or a sibling. Anyone but myself in those moments. We are harshest to ourselves. Unnecessarily so, I think.
I want to be very free, so I am trying to see Beauty as a maintenance thing. Out of self-respect and compassion. Something to hold in my hand.
thank you for this