When I die, I don’t want to look like a tribute to Lakme’ or Botox. I don’t want my body to rot against some silicone implants. I don’t want a fake complexion with my face completely covered under layers of foundation and makeup. I want people to look at me and see the life I have lived. The scars that show the pain that I have endured. The wrinkles that creases in between them, witness to the years that I have lived. 

Oh yes, and I want big visible laugh wrinkles…I absolutely love seeing old people who have laugh wrinkles…It feels like it’s a tribute to all those happy years that they had enjoyed. Maybe, I won’t eat olives and rub milk and egg yolk all over my face. Maybe, I’ll even have dark circles from all those all-nighters I pulled in college. Maybe, those childhood bruises on my knees will never go away. Maybe, those scars from the horrifying acne-filled adolescent years are going to show on my face forever. And maybe my age will in the end, get the best of me….but I don’t mind. I love the fact that I still have a bruise on the sole of my feet from when I was 12. And I love the way I can look at my body and not just see Ponds on my face, Maybelline on my eyes and Lakme’ on my fingernails. Maybe I’m not going to be on the next Top Model show...but I love the way I look…and I love the way I keep changing with age and with life. I may not turn a lot of heads, but I am happy with their heads turned away. 

I am what I am. I am healthy. I eat well. And I live my life well. And for me, that’s good enough. And that is what I want to take to my grave, not a man-made sculpture filled with chemicals, all for the satisfaction of onlookers.