While some people are born beautiful, others get beauty thrust upon them in the way of hair, makeup, lighting, and a good photographer. Then, there’s me. No amount of good genes, thrusting, hair/makeup/lighting/photographer combo can make me into a cover model. A mowdel.
Seems like these days, everyone has their photos taken by professional and wannabe photographers. Anyway...
When dealing with my appearance, it takes a lot of effort just to look like me...
There’s the washing, scrubbing, shaving, exfoliating, moisturizing, tweezing, threading, squeezing, brushing, combing, and smoothing. And, that’s just a couple of things I do to my head. I won’t even describe what happens below the neck (although you can imagine).
There is so much work to be done and so little time to do it all. Lord knows I'll never be smokin' hot. Especially with what I have to deal with thanks to my HIV state.
But weeks ago, a pozzie friend saw me at the club.
"Ang kinis mo na! And you're getting leaner."
My rash marks are 95% gone, my skin is fairer, I'm almost 130lbs, and I feel much better. It's been almost a year since I was diagnosed. I look better than ever. I look... MAJOR MAJOR!
I think that this is my year. Better job. Better health. Better me! As for Running Man, better luck next time. I'm not gonna push through with him anymore. No progress. I may be the one with HIV, but he's more crippled than I am.
So... hello boys... come and get me!