Glow by Lady E

  For the longest time, I kept products I already knew I couldn’t use. Not because I loved them. Because I’d paid for them. My COSRX Advanced Snail 96 Mucin Power Essence stayed because I kept waiting for the day my skin might finally tolerate it again. Maybe when my skin calmed down. Maybe when the flare-ups stopped. Maybe later. Every so often, I’d try again. And my skin would flare up again. The purple moisturizer was different. That one actually worked for me for a while. Then the formula changed, and suddenly something my skin had been perfectly happy with wasn’t working anymore. Still, I kept it. And then there was my NARS primer. I stopped using that a long time ago. Yet somehow it continued living among my things, occupying its tiny piece of real estate as though we were merely on a break. 😆 Eventually I looked at all three and realized something. I was making my skin responsible for recovering the money I’d already spent. As though keeping the bottle made the purchase les...

  There is a photograph of me setting up a booth filled with books I created. I remember that version of me. She was building something she believed in. She had plans for where it might go. Ideas about what came next. Things she wanted badly enough to spend her time, energy and creativity making them real. She wasn’t pretending. She really wanted that life. And then, eventually, I didn’t. I think one of the strangest things about changing is looking back at something you once wanted desperately and realizing that you no longer want it in quite the same way. For a long time, that unsettled me. Because if I could change my mind about something that had once mattered so much, what did that say about all the choices I had made before? Had I been wrong? Had I wasted my time? Had that earlier version of me simply not known herself well enough? After that particular chapter of my work ended, I went through a period filled with realizations and questions I hadn’t expected to have. Not beca...

  There is an invisible schedule I sometimes carry around in my head. By this age, I should have done this. I should already own that. I should have reached this milestone, built that life, earned that much, figured this part out. No one handed me this schedule. There are no deadlines printed on it. And yet somehow, it can feel very real. It gets louder when I look at other people. Someone is buying a house. Someone is traveling. Someone’s business is growing. Someone has reached the milestone I’m still working toward. And suddenly, their progress becomes evidence that I am late. But late for what? We passed by this sculpture of fishermen recently, surrounded by the tall buildings of BGC. The contrast struck me. Behind them is a world measured in meetings, deadlines, promotions, targets and calendars. But fishermen have always understood another kind of time. The tide comes in. The tide goes out. There are seasons for going farther and seasons for staying close to shore. You cannot...

  I have a pair of Charles & Keith sandals that I still think are pretty. That’s probably why they’ve survived this long. They’ve been with me for years.  They’re a soft blush pink, delicate without being overly feminine, with thin straps that wrap around the foot in that effortless-looking way that is never actually effortless to put on. They still look good. They’re still wearable. There is technically nothing wrong with them. Except they hurt. Not immediately, of course. That would make the decision much easier. For the first few minutes, they’re perfectly fine. I can walk around in them. I can look down at my feet and think, See? They’re still good. Then I walk a little farther. And the straps start making themselves known. A little pressure here. A little rubbing there. Nothing dramatic. Nothing that would make me stop in the middle of the mall and dramatically fling my shoes into a trash bin. Just enough discomfort to make me aware of my feet. And once...