Friday, October 11


Last week, on my way to work, I saw a young woman wearing a bright yellow suit. She wasn’t beautiful, she felt beautiful, and somehow, while her body was in motion, you could see the feelings that she kept inside. Her conviction forced the image of beauty upon you, like someone who had just flown in from Cannes or Nice or Hollywood. It was as if you could hear her inner mantra: I am beautiful, I am beautiful, and be swept away, just by looking at her precious face. I wanted to tell her she shouldn’t wear yellow, that other colours would look much better, but all I did was stare and sigh. Her confidence cured my insecurity, and when she looked at me I waved and smiled.