The Vanity of Staying Beautiful

Before delving into the sense and sound of Lord Byron’s poem She walks in beauty, our teacher in literature once asked us her dutiful students to define beauty in our own opinion. Our classroom policy was: none is exempted from talking, and so during discussion everyone has to chip in, otherwise the uncooperative would take on the role of ‘sitting ducks’. I was a shy student at that time and exceedingly overwhelmed by my reticence, I envied my classmates for having the gumption to raise their voice up for everyone to listen to.

While absorbing their thoughts, I noticed that they seemed to agree in two major points: that beauty is based on physical attraction and that it springs from one’s first impression ideally brought about by individual upbringing and distinctly shared in one’s culture. Consequently, what is beautiful to a Korean may not be to a Filipino, and vice-versa. I must admit that this is not a moot stand— that a certain race share traits, and likewise features, so common among them that they tend to attribute or designate levels of comparison to these traits according to norms or standards. Beauty, thus, can be a term defined by a common class of people or individuality. To most people, it has a physical bearing, but to some, it may transcend beyond fine features, color of the skin and manner of dressing.

Insofar as I am inclined to share the opinion of the minority, I got this feeling that somewhere along the line I broke out and everyone seemed to cast their cold, ridiculing eyes on me. To define beauty in relation to strong character, admirable virtues and intellectual appeal is quite unusual, and so I found myself out of cinch groping for a tight and unprejudiced position. This is where, I suppose, individuality comes in. My teacher was amused when I told her I often find graceful women beautiful despite their unpleasing but not unpleasant looks. What I mean with ‘graceful’ is not just something that relates to how a woman carries herself, or gestures with her body, or sways and moves purposely and spontaneously. Gracefulness, I think, is more suggestive of a woman’s femininity in manner and speech, her likableness being an innate quality, than her outward mien or charm which I consider deceptive and false.

Indeed, it is banality to admire a woman in her prime and vibrant youth, whose cheek is keen with the freshness and vigor of age, slender and captivating. And while this is often the case of the many who are caught unawares by her powerful charm, a woman in her fifties who suffers from a feeble illusion of becoming more beautiful at her age is doomed to become a mere passing specter of her past, forgotten by the majority of men, and renounced by her failing eyesight. Though experienced, well-meaning and wise in the ways of the world, she is brushed aside by her generations and is lured to drink from the river of Lethe to serve as a chanced mythical figure of her imagination. She could fake happiness at times and enjoy the rest of her days, but the thought that once in her life she was worshipped by men enslaves her, and so she turns all the more capricious and vain, tied to the glory of her previous experiences, and pushed into the snares of her youthful fantasy. In this sense, it is useless of her to remain beautiful forever while at the same time fuss over the details of her face and the contour of her nose.

Take, for instance, a woman with long hair. Let us imagine that in certain culture, at some point in the history of mankind, long-haired women are much sought-after and esteemed as most prized a gift as a blessing from God. They are, in other words, who are considered to be beautiful in our present times. Let us also imagine that since they are everyone else’s object of cynosure, they are the marriageable kind who are privileged to indulge in sensual pleasure and obtain a happy, fortunate life. What do you think will happen? Will there be women who would want to crop their hair? I don’t think so—that would be a nightmare! In fact, because having long hair is trendy and rewarding, all saloons in cities and towns will be deluded with customers who would want to have their hair curled, relaxed or oiled. The malls and stalls, to boot, will be flocked by maidens who would wish to buy hair tonic, expensive bottles of hair-conditioning formula and other merchandise marked with the quintessence of looks enhancement.

Obviously, you might want to indulge yourself in the thought that the most attractive female in the universe is she whom a lot of men have dreamed of to be with and whose hair is more enticing than the Nile River, more majestic than the Taj Mahal, and more mystical than the pharaoh’s tomb. You might be thinking that normally, under the present circumstance, no woman will ever shame herself by cropping her hair unless she decides to rebel against the existing system or way of life, or to say the worse, succumbs to solitariness to waste away the remaining sunsets of her days.

But let us, at this juncture, allow ourselves to wander and think of what is improbable and extraordinary. Let us say that somewhere along the way and out of the blue, a woman, for no apparent reasons, would decide to crop her hair. What would be the outcome of her, say, odd behavior? Her unusual imprudence? Will anyone dare to condemn or contempt her?

I can only think of the worst scenario. She will be the laughing stock of her friends and the meat of gossips. Everywhere she catches the eyes of men who, curious and confused of her appearance, could not help foretelling her miseries and unhappy plight. Ultimately, she would change into a spinster, alone, bitter, misunderstood at all angles and ugly in all measures.

Yet then again you might say that I see things in black and white, that I am driving too fast, or that I am simply exaggerating my ideas. Oh, yes, a woman can be described in many ways, and so what is beautiful can be personal and absolutely ideal. My whole point, however, is not to be confused with how we look at a woman and judge her appearance by personal means, or any standards or bases; rather, the manner with which she flaunts off herself to the onlookers and the way she affects her dress and blushes her face will bring about a lot of impressions about her and her inner self, which means that such a woman may not be as substantially attractive as what our eyes tell us and that we can be confounded by her glamour and extrinsic appeal. A woman can be as invaluable as a gem, or as magical as a tree, as alluring as a dawn, or as romantic as the lines in poetry, but all in all she is a thought that needs to be aroused and expressed.

It is a pity that oftentimes a woman fancies herself as an adornment for every man to stare at, and when she goes beyond her prime and sturdy years, she cannot but hide her wrinkles by powdering her face and wearing long, florid dresses and fine trinkets. If she only knows virtue, her vanity will fly away, and whatever remains is the seed of genuine beauty.

Love poem 1

When in the constancy of sweet desire

I cannot but remember the bygones and you,

And stare long at you as if you were

A canvass which of a sudden appears

On Nature’s lap—oh, how I wish I can

Possess your ardor and dream long of you,

And dream more upon your visage high

Of all your vibrant speeches and your smiles!

Then I shall know I have learned how to keep well

The boundless secrets of pure admiration,

And that all love unspoken claims its solace from

Not fear nor pining but its true will to adore.

How shall I forget in such a passing spell

The joy and longing for togetherness? Perhaps,

I shall but ask for what loving Art conceives

In one bold stroke the purpose and alchemy

Of wanting love. What more shall I wish

Than to seek fulfillment in one’s tight embrace?

This joy of being, and being one in mind

Is like dancing, dancing to the heart’s content;

And nothing comes to rest till on a breathing space

Each moment is enraptured and left hanging there

And I who dance with you shall at last quietly leave

The dance floor musing and absorbed in your grace.

Love poem 2

To think of you and feel you sleeping in my arms
And feel the pulse of love running along my veins;
To sense in your delight the warmth behind your charms
And catch the color of your heart’s luminescence;
To plunge into the passion of your tight embrace,
The ebbing of my doubt, the depths of your caress;
To love you for heaven’s sake and live up to your love—
That’s all I want to be, and all I long to have.

Love poem 3

To me my freedom is lost upon the will to love,

But Love in return has given me you, its prize.

She must have known me long in every schemes of life,

And through solitude, the silent torments in my heart.

Ah, then you came, out of her lisping mouth!

She in her flowing tresses, you in your dawning looks.

I long to live to see each moment’s bliss

Revealed in us. We pray our solemn love endure,

While she, dear Freedom, departs and unties my shoes,

Reluctantly, but with an ever burning wish

That together out of her calm and reason

We shall not fail to keep each other’s vows

And though at times we hardly hide our woes,

We cling to love and we breathe through it by faith.

I have reveled in Freedom, I have wandered across her hills;

But Love showed me her meadows to lie upon and dream,

And if by chance she has forgotten me

I still have you in her memory