Monday, August 1, 2016

At a busy beach, a woman in her 30s is sitting next to a group of young people with her 2 children. They are around 16 years old and are chatting, enjoying the beautiful day. But the woman can only focus on one thing:
I am the woman sitting on the towel beside you. The one who came with a little boy and girl. 
First of all, I want to say I'm having a really nice time sitting by you and your friends, in this brief moment where our spaces touch and our laughter meets. I enjoy the "transcendental“ chat and how the music from your loudspeaker fills my air. 
You know? I'm kind of amazed because I don't know at which moment of my life I went from being there to here: from being the girl to being the "lady beside you." From being the one who comes to the beach with her friends to the one coming with her kids. 
But I am not writing you because of that. I am writing you because I would like to tell you that I noticed you. I couldn't help seeing you.
I saw how you were the last one to take off your clothes. 
I saw you go discreetly behind your friends and take off your T-shirt when you thought nobody was looking. I saw you. I wasn't looking at you but I saw you.
I saw you sitting on your towel in a careful position, covering your tummy with your arms. 
I saw you lower your head so you could put your hair behind your ear, maybe so you didn't have to move your arms from their careful position. 
I saw you stand up in order to go to the water and swallow nervously as you stood there, exposed to your friends. Once again, you used your arms as a sarong to cover your stretch marks, slack skin and cellulite. 
I saw you get worried because you couldn't cover your entire body at once, as you walked slowly away from your group of friends again.
I don't know if your discontent had something to do with the fact that your friend was letting her long hair flow over a back which was only lacking the Victoria Secret wings. In the meantime, you were there looking down at the ground, searching for a hiding place within yourself, from yourself. 
And I would like to tell you so many things, dear girl in the green bathing suit, maybe because I, before being the woman with the kids, have been there, on your towel. 
I would like to tell you that actually, I have been on your towel and your friend's towel. I have been you and I have been her. And now I am neither, or maybe I am still both. So if I could go back in time, I would choose to just enjoy instead of worry, and choose not to boast. For now, I would like to be on any towel. 
I would like to tell you that I saw you carrying a book in your bag, and that your 16-year-old stomach will probably lose its smoothness before you lose your head. 
I would like to tell you that you have a beautiful smile and that it's a pity that you are so busy trying to hide yourself that you don't have time to smile more often. 
I would like to tell you that the body you seem so ashamed of is beautiful because it's young. What the hell! It's beautiful because it's alive. Because it's the transportation of who you really are and will be with you in everything that you do. 
I would like to tell you that I wish you could look at yourself with the eyes of a 30-something-year-old, because then you would realize just how worthy you are of being loved, even by yourself. 
I would like to tell you that the person who really loves you one day will not love the person you are in spite of your body, but will adore your body: every curve, every dimple, every line, every mole. This person will love the map, unique and beautiful, that your body draws. And if they do not, then they do not deserve your love.  
I would like to tell you that - believe me, believe me, believe me - you are perfect just as you are: sublime in your imperfection. 
But what can I tell you, if I am only the woman beside you?
Although, you know what? I came with my daughter, the one in the pink swimsuit, the one playing in the sea, spreading sand all over herself. Today she was only worried about the water being too cold. 
To you, dear girl in the green bathing suit, I can say nothing.
But I will tell everything, EVERYTHING to her. 
And I will also tell everything, EVERYTHING to my son. 
Because that is the way we all deserve to be loved. 
And that is the way we all should love. 
No wonder this post has been shared and liked more than 150,000 times on Facebook: a wonderful message for today's young people. As time passes, we realize how many times we could've just laughed, and allowed ourselves to be happy. At the end of the day, those are the moments that really matter, right?


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