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Description
Beauty in the Eyes of This Beholder
Someone wise once stated, "Beauty is in the eye of the beholder." These words shed light on the mysterious concept of beauty. Why do people hold different and even opposing views of beautiful? What categorizes something as beautiful? While today's media tries to define beauty with makeup, diets, and clothes, people try to mold themselves to fit the popular view. I have found, however, that most often beauty shows through because of sentiment. People's feelings determine beauty, not their eyes. The definition of beauty varies as much as people's emotions.
A broken bracelet lies in a tired wooden box. Upon careful examination, I see the chipping paint, the tarnished metal, and the missing crystals that distinguish this bracelet from any other. To anyone else, the bracelet would appear trash, old and ugly with a broken clasp. But, to me, the bracelet feels irreplaceable. The cheap metal has grown dull because I wore it every day for years. Throughout the places I visited with the person who gave me the bracelet, the chain has scattered its gems, leaving a mark on every memory, each missing jewel a reminder of a time I spent with him.
At the very bottom of the last drawer in my closet, a tattered pair of jeans sits crumpled and torn. These pants would sooner be thrown into the dumpster than accepted as a donation to a rummage sale, but I could never give them up. Dried and flaking paint blotch the legs, and the material stretches to the point of tearing. Still, the waistline hugs me like an old friend every time I slip them on, my knees peeking through the fringed holes. The pants once belonged to my sister, who wore them everywhere. She remembers every paint splotch or grass stain she left on them, and I can easily recall the moments I added even more character to the pants. The fact that my very different sister and I can share something means a lot to me, and these pants look beautiful on both of us.
In my early childhood, my neighbor and I made a pact of friendship. We wrote our pledge and decorated it with a mess of magic markers, stickers, glitter, and glue sticks, wearing our crayons down to nothing. Years later, I found the hand-crafted poster beneath my bed, and tears welled up in my eyes. Our artwork now hangs proudly in my room, one of the most beautiful reminders I have of my best friend and our carefree childhood creativity.
Shortly after my seventeenth birthday, my grandmother gave me a dress that had belonged to her grandmother, who had crocheted it when she was my age. The dress seems old and out of date to the common eye, but when I put it on, I feel as though I am sharing in a special family secret. I can almost sense my great-great-grandmother standing with me. Despite its discolored fabric, exhausted elastic, and stretched bodice, its beauty shows through.
The most beautiful person I know was born in 1967. The gray sometimes shows through in her hair, she does not fit in the size two she used to wear, and wrinkles run across her middle-aged face. However, the gray hair comes from her concern for me, her hips stretch wider from carrying me--her stance strong and never-tiring, and her wrinkles show in the form of laugh lines from smiling and giggling with me since my birth. She may not be a model; she may not even like what she sees in the mirror some days. Still, she gave me life, and she will always radiate beauty in my eyes.
I once asked my father to describe my birth. I recall that his answer entailed some very gruesome details. I came out screaming and purple, covered in a sticky red mess. The details of his story nearly traumatized me, but just as I began to proclaim my intent of never having children, he paused and smiled. "It was the most beautiful thing I had ever witnessed."
Beauty comes in many forms. It can appear in an object full of memories, something shared with a loved one, a childhood heirloom, a hero, or a life-changing event. It may not look shiny or new or perfect. It may appear out of style, feel painful, or look its age. But beauty lies in the meaning behind each breath-taking moment, the imperfection of each creation and the inescapable grasp of love.

Description
Beauty in the Eyes of This Beholder
Someone wise once stated, "Beauty is in the eye of the beholder." These words shed light on the mysterious concept of beauty. Why do people hold different and even opposing views of beautiful? What categorizes something as beautiful? While today's media tries to define beauty with makeup, diets, and clothes, people try to mold themselves to fit the popular view. I have found, however, that most often beauty shows through because of sentiment. People's feelings determine beauty, not their eyes. The definition of beauty varies as much as people's emotions.
A broken bracelet lies in a tired wooden box. Upon careful examination, I see the chipping paint, the tarnished metal, and the missing crystals that distinguish this bracelet from any other. To anyone else, the bracelet would appear trash, old and ugly with a broken clasp. But, to me, the bracelet feels irreplaceable. The cheap metal has grown dull because I wore it every day for years. Throughout the places I visited with the person who gave me the bracelet, the chain has scattered its gems, leaving a mark on every memory, each missing jewel a reminder of a time I spent with him.
At the very bottom of the last drawer in my closet, a tattered pair of jeans sits crumpled and torn. These pants would sooner be thrown into the dumpster than accepted as a donation to a rummage sale, but I could never give them up. Dried and flaking paint blotch the legs, and the material stretches to the point of tearing. Still, the waistline hugs me like an old friend every time I slip them on, my knees peeking through the fringed holes. The pants once belonged to my sister, who wore them everywhere. She remembers every paint splotch or grass stain she left on them, and I can easily recall the moments I added even more character to the pants. The fact that my very different sister and I can share something means a lot to me, and these pants look beautiful on both of us.
In my early childhood, my neighbor and I made a pact of friendship. We wrote our pledge and decorated it with a mess of magic markers, stickers, glitter, and glue sticks, wearing our crayons down to nothing. Years later, I found the hand-crafted poster beneath my bed, and tears welled up in my eyes. Our artwork now hangs proudly in my room, one of the most beautiful reminders I have of my best friend and our carefree childhood creativity.
Shortly after my seventeenth birthday, my grandmother gave me a dress that had belonged to her grandmother, who had crocheted it when she was my age. The dress seems old and out of date to the common eye, but when I put it on, I feel as though I am sharing in a special family secret. I can almost sense my great-great-grandmother standing with me. Despite its discolored fabric, exhausted elastic, and stretched bodice, its beauty shows through.
The most beautiful person I know was born in 1967. The gray sometimes shows through in her hair, she does not fit in the size two she used to wear, and wrinkles run across her middle-aged face. However, the gray hair comes from her concern for me, her hips stretch wider from carrying me--her stance strong and never-tiring, and her wrinkles show in the form of laugh lines from smiling and giggling with me since my birth. She may not be a model; she may not even like what she sees in the mirror some days. Still, she gave me life, and she will always radiate beauty in my eyes.
I once asked my father to describe my birth. I recall that his answer entailed some very gruesome details. I came out screaming and purple, covered in a sticky red mess. The details of his story nearly traumatized me, but just as I began to proclaim my intent of never having children, he paused and smiled. "It was the most beautiful thing I had ever witnessed."
Beauty comes in many forms. It can appear in an object full of memories, something shared with a loved one, a childhood heirloom, a hero, or a life-changing event. It may not look shiny or new or perfect. It may appear out of style, feel painful, or look its age. But beauty lies in the meaning behind each breath-taking moment, the imperfection of each creation and the inescapable grasp of love.