Pubescent is a big word

I am 22 and I have a breakout. As acne is a matter of puberty, allow me to be a petulant teen for a moment and rant that 14 days after I have officially, inexcusably become an adult, my skin decided it wanted to be a pizza. Is it delayed oil gland rebellion? A consequence of the rainy day? My trusty soap turning fickle?

Normally, I wouldn’t be so annoyed. What kind of 22-year-old would freak over the sight of a few bumps? Especially since I have no beauty regimen to speak of (wash face, pat-dry that’s it). The thing is on my 22nd birthday, I vowed to better myself physically. I know I say this every Monday–to put more effort in my appearance. To spend more time in front of the mirror. To drink more water. To exercise regularly. To stop wearing clothes from college–but I figured 22’s the real deal. I got away with my yaya-chic 21st year by deeming it a leeway point, a period of adjustment before maturity finally begins. But that’s over. It’s time to wake up from Neverland (or Miss Peregrine’s Home For Peculiar Children) and smell the coffee.

So everyday for the past 14 days I’ve been spending an extra 10 minutes in front of the mirror, experimenting with my lone palette of eye shadows (it has six shades of brown!), fumbling over my mascara wand, and picking over my lipsticks (I have around 15, thanks to sales and giveaways). But what do I get after my extra effort of powdering? A sprinkling of zits.

Allergies come to me like Yogi Bear to a picnic basket. I have to be extra picky with my things because I could end up with swollen lips or flaky skin or a rash. In kindergarten I woke up with itchy red dots all over my body. It took forever to confirm what caused it but the culprit was a fake silver necklace I forgot to take off after playing dress up.

Now, on my 22nd year, I have allergy-powered zits, I relapsed to nail-biting, and I have the sudden desire to wear jeans again.

I wish appearances didn’t matter. I wish I could walk into a room red-faced with unkempt hair without one person saying something bad behind my back. I wish I could wear elephant pants without yaya comments. I wish appearances didn’t matter. But the sad thing is, they do. In a perfect world, they shouldn’t, but unfortunately our place of imperfection demands everything but. And forever, people like me, who couldn’t care less about the latest trends and the brand new LV Speedy, will get flak for simple lack of interest and/or medical limitations.

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Don’t misunderstand. Being 22 is awesome. I had a terrific celebration (that, of course, ended up in minor food poisoning and a lot of days with my face over the toilet). Jason gave me a precious gift–one I’ve been wanting for a long time now. Well since some nut stole all the Instax photos from my desk, anyway.

After a fun Saturday full of crepe and hotdogs and barbecue, Jason took me to Nuvali on the 24th. I’ve always wanted to go there. I kept badgering him about the koi pond and the bike path and how it really looks awesome in photos. Finally, he took me, along with my best friends, to my little Laguna paradise! It was grander and much more beautiful in person–with a lot more people too. Wasn’t that sweet? We ate some bad coconut, but all things considered, it was pretty good till we had to retch.

To cap off the perfect weekend courtesy of my loving man, we actually got to pee on the Skyway! Crossed one item off the bucket list! How cool is that? I desperately needed to go and we were just approaching the highway. At the toll booth, Jason asked the nice lady where we could relieve ourselves since I was already starting to shake. She kindly pointed us to their office and lo! A few minutes later, we were standing on the island surrounded by cars and feeling extra special.

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So I may not have creamy skin or a bunch of LVs, but life is all kinds of awesome. It’s good to know there’s always a bathroom when you need one.

#sabog

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