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How to Stop yourself from Staring

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"Oh My God, look at that girl. Her nose is larger than my fist." That was what my friend said when we happened to see a girl on our way to college today. Instinctively, I followed my friend's finger and saw a pre-pubertal child who stood by the entrance of a shopping complex. She had grotesque muscle in place of the nose; the flesh slumped down so much that it covered her upper lip. Eyes smaller than the standard size were pushed sidewards by the growing tissues of her nose. I wondered where her nostrils were, for I couldn't see how she was breathing. It was after I obtained these details that it hit me that I was staring at that little girl.   I looked away, ashamed. It's human nature to stare at anything that looks abnormal to us. And if it's a person with facial disfigurement, we don't just stop there staring. We'll fling our mouth open, make an insensitive comment or nudge a friend to share the comfort we are reeling from making
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How Self Deprecating Thoughts Shape You into a Shell

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When I look around myself, I see everybody moving, working, accomplishing things. Someone is studying, some are working on their assignments, a few are working hard to earn, some are travelling, others are photographing, many are baking, writing, publishing books, leading a group, speaking in the public! Everyone has done and is doing things. And while I am looking in all my directions, I see not even a single person who is sitting idle. I forgot to tell you that I did not look at myself lately, which is why I could not find anyone idle. Not carefree, but idle. No work, yet stressed. No worry, yet depressed. Many friends, yet lonely. Just the basic woman-on-period stuff, you see. But I am talking about doing something. Motivational speeches, soulful writings, poems, sumptuous food, experiments, inventions, art, architecture... Everyone is into one field or another and yielding decent money. Whereas, I, despite being a woman of man
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Because you don't need Make-Up to Cover-Up!

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I saw her today; like I do every day. To my utter surprise, she seemed content. She had an unusual glow on her face, a smile which had a romantic story hidden to its depth, and a glint in her eyes which spoke of both apprehension and passion. These days, she keeps her blonde hair open, applies kohl in her eyes, wears her lipstick, and fancies looking at herself in the mirror at least seventeen times a day. She has started using the bentonite clay mask over her face, putting a layer each of foundation, primer, the BB Cream, and the bronzer before stepping out of the house and applying the rose water before going to bed. She has bought three slim-fit jeggings, got four of her tops tailored, so they accentuate her feminine form even more, and she has stolen my favourite perfume bottle from my cupboard. The little bulge of her belly, the flabby thighs, upper-lip hair, and the acne marks on her forehead-she has grown conscious to all the traits that carry with them a formidable
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