On Lipstick

A girl’s happiness can be dependent on the most elusive things like physical or spiritual satisfaction. But it can also be immensely found on simple things like getting a lip color that she really, really, really loved, lost, and somehow got back again.

What would propel a girl with a dangerous salary state to spend a thousand pesos on lipstick during payday? Why does she need more than one tube? Why would she line them up on her desk, where she writes her stories, solves her problems, and generally arranges her day, and then upon waketime the next day, sit down in front of them, hold them in her hand, and smile in spite of herself? And then she would proceed to get out other things – blusher, foundation, mascara — other expensive bottles, surprising for her lifestyle, but they’re so nice — (no this is not an addiction to a particular genre, she is just generally spendthrift), And then sigh, like an animated thought bubble above her head: her beautiful makeup kit, humble but sophisticated. They are a joy to use not just in the hallway mirror of her house but in washrooms in hotels, malls, office desks.

Maybe it’s because this time, she was responsible for these little things, her happiness. She wanted them, and now she haves them. Shallow. Vain. Priorities askew. But no matter, in her heart, she can feel sweet flutters of thrill and success, stronger than any stirrings of anxiety and dissatisfaction.

Oh, what beautiful, glossy, crimson, sexy bullets I have! Chili. Please Me. Ruby Woo. And others. My strongest weapon is the mouth where I load them upon with glee. With it, I can please, terrify, innovate.

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