This is something women know of, and will only tell you if they think you understand- that on some bad days, she can wake up feeling ugly, inferior, fat or just plain unlovely, even though absolutely nothing has changed overnight. Blame it on hormones, the media, the enemy- but just because the feelings are illogical doesn’t mean they are not real. At her core, every woman wants to know she is lovely, beautiful in the eyes of someone and loved- on some bad days, she just doesn’t know it.
I first met her 2 weeks ago at a missions meeting. Young and sweet, she had a voice exuding her youth and guilelessness. She was sent from China by a Singaporean medical missionary for medical treatment here. Only nineteen, Qing* had come for her fourteenth operation here (sponsored by donors) after she had had a copious amount of acid poured all over her face by a vile stranger when she was fifteen. From what her face looked like after fourteen operations, one cannot imagine how grossly disfigured her face must originally have been from the tragic incident. Even objectively, her appearance at the time was described at best to be alarming. She lost her sense of sight, and would hear the stinging comments of passers-by as they ogled or shunned away, terrified, by her appearance.
As she stood shyly at the front sharing her story and how God gave her a new lease of life, and her burden to fundraise for needy patients back in China through selling beautiful fabric flowers she had made, I could not quite see her face. It was mostly covered by a long fringe and a large pair of sunglasses. Yet, even from afar, it was easy to tell she was the kind of girl who likes dressing up- her tall, slim figure, the tottering heels, pleated skirt a little above the knee, straightened hair, fashionable sunglasses and dangly ear-rings made it apparent.
After our medical missions meeting ended, many went up to the counter to purchase her beautiful flowers. I went up to her, and can’t say I wasn’t a little embarrassed to try and conceal my shock- for her face and neck were horrifically scarred, her mouth and lips were crooked, her nostrils were but shallow caves in skin and her hair was worn to cover the ghastly marks over her forehead. Her heavy shades covered her eyes, which, too, were severely corroded. She was here for her cornea operation because the acid had corroded her eyes, and her vision was extremely poor, even at close distances.
After making some small talk, it was getting late, and so after buying some flowers, I turned to leave when something stopped me and compelled me to turn back. I had brought a few small boxes of gingerbread cookies I had baked that afternoon for my friends and had one more box. I wanted to give it to her, and as I did, I hugged her and told her how tender and beautiful a heart she had, how precious she was in the eyes of God. It was then that her lilting voice shook, and a tiny trickle of tears streamed down her left eye. It was also then that I realised, she only had one eye. Another stream of tears flowed out from a tiny hole in the skin which covered where her right eye should have been.
“Thank you,”she said, and she hugged me back in return. “Thank you so much. God’s really changed my life. “
Last week, we met for lunch. A good friend of mine who had met her in China on her medical elective and myself took her to a nice place for some Japanese food.
“What would you like to have?” I asked, as I brought her around the restaurant which was designed like a food bazaar. “How about this?”
“Oh, I can’t eat this. It has too much potassium,” she said in mandarin, “it interferes with the medication I’m taking.”
“Oh I see.”
Over lunch I asked if she enjoyed painting her nails. Since the age of six, I have not had my nails painted and of late, I had had the girlish desire to paint my nails again. After some struggle over my frivolous vanity, I had decided to give her the nail polish I had bought for myself.
“The doctors say I can’t paint my nails anymore because the alcohol content hurts my eyes. I’m so troublesome, dear me. I’m so sorry.”
She can’t eat without having to think if the food she takes will interfere with her medication. She can’t paint her nails. Why does it have to be like this? She’s only nineteen.
“No, you’re not a trouble at all dear.” So I gave her a pair of ear-rings I had brought too instead, and incidentally, my friend had bought ear-rings for the both of us too. So there we were, three girls in a Japanese restaurant trying on ear-rings and making fun of how vain each of us were, giggling over nail polish and ear-rings and vanity of vanities.
But somehow, it gave me great joy to know that she was so happy with the ear-rings I had given her, even though she was feeling them instead of admiring them with her eyes because she could hardly see. It gave me great joy to listen to her coo about how much she enjoyed shopping, and making jewellery and flowers. It gave me great joy to know that I had made her feel, in some small way, beautiful and loved- the way every girl wants to feel, and not mocked at, pointed at or discussed. And perhaps, what made me most happy, was seeing how much life and joy and hope in beauty she still held for herself, even as her disfigured face stood in stark contrast to her well-matched and girlish attire.
In the darkness, candles fight harder still for the beauty of light.
I learnt, that girls will always be girls, and that eternal appreciation and longing for beauty will always remain no matter what happens. There are all sorts of women- the sporting kind, the artsy-fartsy kind, the feminine sort, the pragmatic sort, the high-maintenance ones and the simple ones, or an eclectic mix of them all if you’re like me. But in whichever way she was made, a woman, being an expression of God’s alluring beauty, will always have the innate desire to create, express and be that beauty, that nourishing, comforting, inspiring beauty for the world to enjoy. It’s just the way things are.
I looked at her, and recalled the lovely flowers she had made, unable to imagine the horror of surviving years of facelessness and smiled at her unyielding sense of hope for the present, her unquenching desire to create beauty even in the face of monstrosity, injustice and shame.
Yet even then, I knew our cheerful banter only belied the profound suffering she must have had and very possibly still have inside-the suffering of feeling ugly every day, of having one’s little girl’s prince-charming dreams shattered and of feeling unlovely. She’s only nineteen. She was disfigured at fifteen. Why do things have to be this way?
Nonetheless, knowing God’s love for her had pulled her through years of hardship and today, that tenacity to hold onto Him remains. “ After all that’s happened and that’s been done for me, I can’t believe there is no God.”
She kept thanking us for lunch, but I thanked her more for opening my eyes to what true beauty means. She gave me a glimpse of understanding what continually finding our beauty, identity and security in God means; she taught me what it means to look within since she could not see the outside; she taught me what it means to turn one’s face to God when the world shuns and mocks our facelessness. I wanted to beat myself for the senseless moments I had felt unlovely, for weren’t those moments of ingratitude to our Creator?
“Qing, I want you always to remember that God only looks at our inside, and you are an incredibly beautiful and precious child in His eyes.”
Tears fell again from where her right eye ought to have been. She said to me, “I made this flower for you. I remember the first time we met, you mentioned briefly that you like deep pink but I ran out of fabric so I hope you’ll still like this red flower I made.”
“It’s beautiful, Qing. Thank you for everything.”
” I’d come out to meet you,
Tell you I’m sorry,
You don’t know how lovely you are.”
-The Scientist, Coldplay