By Angelica Recierdo, News Staff
I always just gloss over the fact that I don’t stand at exactly 162 centimeters, but when aligning my spine like I’m propped in a ventriloquist’s hand, I think it’s fair to round up.
According to some brainy space website, I would be horrendously obese on Jupiter and probably a supermodel on Venus. Earth’s growth chart would depict that I was the tallest girl in my fifth grade class and that now, nine years later, I’ve shot up a whopping three inches. During that three inch period, I learned a lot about what this size entails.
Being petite means peplum is your wardrobe savior. When people say it takes ten minutes to walk there it will take you fifteen. And you’ll find yourself reaching for the sky and not in that empowering dreams-come-true kind of way, but in that I-need-my-cereal-box way.
Another confession: I don’t brush my hair on most days. It’s not unruly and it doesn’t have a personality and therefore I have no reason to tame it with harsh bristles. It falls straight, caramel highlights framing my face with black underneath. It parts slightly to the right as if there’s a couple strands on the left that it doesn’t like.
There are layers to it, a very feminine and warm style overall. It’s experienced with the humidity of the Caribbean, where there’s something feisty about always wearing it down. It bounces when I walk past a boy I like. It gets tucked into a slick bun when I’m being interviewed or judged. It feels glamorous when placed in a sink, combed through with a hair stylist’s fingers. It feels loved when someone is braiding it, handling the locks of hair like gold spilling in between their fingertips.
Now these are not considered body parts, but I consider them an extension of myself made of plastic, metal and glass. I am bespectacled. It happened unintentionally in childhood when I would sneak up to my room and watch Nickelodeon at an eagerly yet dangerously close distance. I’ve probably gone through dozens of pairs by now.
First, the typical wiry ones that break when your brother sits on them or when playing kickball. Then the traditional black plastic-rimmed at every stage of their life: bookish, sexy, hipster. I appreciate the perpetually professional look I exude. It’s taken me a lifetime to wear them with ease and confidence. And yet, optometrists and acquaintances will suggest Lasik or contact lenses. I’ll always just smile and decline politely.
Eyeglasses are the reminder of the life all around me. When the temples are corroded by salt water, I know I’ve had an active day at the beach. When drops of morning dew or frigid winter air cloud my vision I know I need to be warm. Others will cite glasses as a cosmetic interference, but I know that they remind me to live fully. Because a piece of glass is what gives me vision and I’ll always be amazed by that.
A final, undeniable part of my identity is my heritage, or rather my parents’, since I always viewed it as an item they packed into a cardboard box and shipped across an ocean. Biologically, ethnically and every other scientific adverb will say I am a product of a chain of islands called the Philippines, but born and raised in the tri-state area. When words fall out of my mouth people will search for an accent that was never there.
My small button nose and year-round tan skin would always confuse the Caucasian residents of my New Jersey hometown. I have big, round, brown eyes and a petite, curvy body that most people (guys) would love to call Latina. I have a small face that could fit in a lover’s hands and feet that never wear socks in the house. I love rice, and I can dance. Filipinos are the Asians that aren’t really. I enjoy answering the question of where I’m from because I always say New Jersey and the perplexed expression that contorts people’s faces always puts a smile on mine.
I enjoy answering the question of where I’m from because whenever I say New Jersey, the perplexed expression that contorts people’s faces always puts a smile on mine.
-Angelica Recierdo can be reached at [email protected].
