The State of my Hands

There was a time when my hands were nice. Many people told me I was lucky to have long fingers, long nail beds. There was a time when I had a manicure and foot scrub every week. My nails were buffed and uniformly filed. I could look at model nails in the magazines and be very happy comparing my own. Those were the times when choosing nail polish colors was the biggest problem.

In Manila, a complete manicure-pedicure service cost P100 pesos ($2)--and the manicurist came to the house. In the salon, it cost more, maybe $10 (for feet and hands, too). In the States, it is expensive, maybe because I am still converting. I scouted around and the cheapest manicure rate is $8 in a small nail salon, operated by Vietnamese. I have been tempted to have a manicure since I got here 2 years ago. But look, 2 years without a professional manicure turns your nails into a sad and gnarly picture:




Two of my fingernails are chipped from the middle of the nail bed and I am waiting for it to grow out so I can trim them without cutting my flesh. I felt a sadness at how nails and my hands look. In fact, I feel like crying. They look like they have aged and gone through severe chores, maybe just like all immigrant hands. Last summer, I made a mistake of wearing sandals when my toenails weren't polished. When people glanced at my feet, I winced and curled them in tightly. I also look at my hair--which I cut myself (at least in front). I notice 90% of my days are ponytail days and the grays are certainly showing. My hair needs a good cut and a good professional coloring.

My friend in NJ said she cried the first time she had a manicure in the States. I think it is because she felt her self-worth here again, when our tendency is to forget. A immigrants, we just concentrate on working and earning and fighting home-sickness. She has not gone without one since and she promises, it's worth it--to see your nails polished, to get a good haircut, and to have your hair colored at the salon.

The state of my hands and hair reflect my life. I tend to forget about looking nice, and when I remember, I don't have time nor the motivation to do it. My SF friend reminded me that looking nice is a gift that we must not take for granted. He said that we should use all the gifts we were given--inner and outer gifts--and not be afraid of our light.

I have a tendency to not want to shine, to blend in the background, to not call attention to physical appearances, rather I put a premium on kindness or generosity. With the children, I tend to put myself even last. I have to examine those values and see if it's time to change.

I must get my grays colored. . .