The mask I wore

I love pink - it's even there in the coloured fringe brightening my greying hair and often on my painted nails - now lasting even longer and with glitter dusted through them.

Here's the thing though - my lips never see pink, neither do my cheeks or eyes.

Oh yes - there was a time my friend when I wore the coloured hues to make up my face. To make myself prettier, more attractive to hide behind the mask.

Over time it just felt wrong - not in my head but wrong in my heart and soul. It's as if they asked to be seen by others through my natural eyes, my natural smile and my natural wrinkles.

So painted faces became just for special occasions to adorn the special dress and to some how convey the obligation I felt of 'doing my best' of 'trying'.

Then one day I realised 'doing my best' was allowing others to see me and the paint got in the way. Of course others can be seen through their painted faces but not me.

I felt as if I couldn't breath - and that came over - I wasn't me.

And so slowly the special occasions that warranted the paint reduced, until it was a once in a blue moon occasion. When even I could see the sequined dress deserved a little support.

These days hair, nails and clothes are painted well, but the face simply remains painted with the freckles and laughter lines that grow with me.

Heart and soul are happy that I am seen - and there's an ease with which I wear the natural paint. An ease I could never achieve with the pink.