Sometimes I will talk to women who start to argue with me for no reason. Then I feel it in the pit of my stomach – they are looking at my liquid lipstick and sharp eyeliner, the clothes that drape from my body, and I feel my age. I swallow my youth like a gulp of coffee in the mornings. Being beautiful is just as hard as being ugly but you can’t make the same complaints. If you’re beautiful you just cannot complain at all or else it’s frivolous. I wear my youth when I walk in the centretown streets; I see women clinging to the last of theirs, terrified of becoming a sexless old hag. In a week I will be 24, a woman, immortal, a goddess. Under my arms there is room for everyone but not everyone wants it. And I will not be fearful of growing older, because I have many sisters who know this is not the worst thing in the world.
© Alexandra Jema