Filth in the BeautyA Story by HanakusoThe reverse side of beauty, dyed by beloved filth.I had a name. How my name was lost remained a mystery. When I was a child, innocent and full of trust, they taught me everything was beautiful and ugliness only goes to those who deserve it: the abominable, the disobedient, and the cruel. But I asked myself, as I grew up, have I been that bad that everything started to hurt? I
stopped my life. For a time, everything was at a standstill. It came to a point
where I started to view people as separate entities behind the glass;
breathing, moving, but never alive. They were faceless mannequins
who laughed with me and whispered all the dirt they know about me. The worst
part was, I whispered back. I murmured all the things I knew, all negative and
positive. The guilt patted my shoulder but I brushed it off. Survival came
first, even if it kills me religiously. Life
is funny sometimes. We wake up and never realize that our hearts were breaking.
We eat our breakfast, we shower, we dress and we smile at the mirror, checking
for flaws, not knowing we were reeking our souls to the core. Ironic, isn’t it?
We want a perfect look, but never considered a perfect spirit. We seek the
truth, but never the movement behind that certainty. We disallow ourselves the
privilege to learn because we are too afraid to handle the weight of the
knowledge. We deny ourselves. The
feeling of idleness lingers, its noxious breath bearing down on me, pushing me
and pulling me lower, lower, lower, until the mere thought of even just looking
up to see the sky is painful. I was tired. I was tired of breathing, but I
didn’t want to drown either. Truthfully, although the black blanket of doubt
touched a part of my soul, there was still the gentle glow of certainty that
warmed me, the kind of certainty that everything will be all fine, a certainty
that the future can heal itself. In
this world, where we all are born and end up falling, what do we live for? If
it’s fate, accept it, no matter what kind of tomorrow visits. Even if I’ll come
to hate myself, even if I’ll refuse to believe, I can’t come to like the person
I’ll become. The change is needed. I smell the putrid scent of my heart; I
can’t let others touch it. The young, the pure and the disconnected will catch
my disease. Not everyone is safe; the contagion of the infection is highly
transmissible. My name. I remember it now. You
call me a filth in the beauty. © 2012 HanakusoAuthor's Note
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4 Reviews Added on November 8, 2012 Last Updated on November 8, 2012 Tags: the GazettE, thoughts, personal, rant, self-discovery, fiction AuthorHanakusoPhilippinesAboutJan. 21. Female. Asian. Catholic. Nurse. don’t think regret is 20/20. regret is myopic. hope is astigmatic. trust is blind. more..Writing
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