You see a picture of me gaily dressed. Everything is on fleek, I look so flawless. You pause to like the picture (or love it as the case may be) but before you do, you zoom it a bit and look at the finer details of my picture. You see that my hair is a Brazilian weave and the finishing is so perfect it could pass for mine but of course it could be my hair because I’ve been known to flaunt my long, full and almost-black hair but then you take a quick look at my shoes and then decide in that instant that it’s a Brazilian weave because my shoes look like I can own a Brazilian weave. That settled, you look at my face. Your perception of beauty transcends the tenets of philosophy that states that there’s no ideal beauty: it’s in the eye of the beholder or better still, it’s from deep within, a function of the character of hearts and souls. Your perception of a beautiful face is determined by how much of make-up I can get away with and still appear to look natural. You squint your e
celebrating life and lives