Waiting in Beauty Salons

There is a reason as to why I do not particularly like attending beauty salons, in fact there are a multitude of reasons. Today one reason came to life and looked me up and down in the form of two withered old women. 

A young lady, accompanied by her mother and grandmother walked in as I sat in the waiting room. Three generations of Arabic women - I picked up their words immediately and although I loathe stereotypes and their pigeonholing of people, they worked in my favour today because no Arab can pick out that I too am middle-eastern and that I can understand their filthy conversations perfectly. They sat perpendicular to me and I kept staring straight ahead of me at an array of cosmetic products, with them kept purposely in the side of my vision. 

Then, nasty events unfolded that reminded me of one of my grandmothers and her middle-eastern prejudicial staring and judging tendencies. As soon as her granddaughter went in for her appointment, she turned to her daughter and said something about me which I just so conveniently happened to block out of my hearing ability, and her daughter did the classical 'I'm going to look around and pretend to look at the blank wall behind the person I intend to look at and look at it in a way that implies my utter interest when really I will be looking at that person and that person in the meanwhile will not even suspect my gaze even if I am staring directly at her as she is staring at me wondering why I am staring at her in the way that I am'. 

And she held that stare. She and the grandmother. The staring and the talking, the judging. I could feel their words pressing against my skin, against my contours and staining me with hatred. It would not end. It was a recurring event that I did not want to be a part of, that I left the vicinity of my distant Lebanese relatives to avoid. Fortunately my sister joined me after finding a car park space and saved me from the foreign glaring, yet I felt worse because they then aimed it at her then the both of us. It was torture. She sensed it right away before I had the opportunity to point them out. "Can you feel their stares?" And yes. They penetrated my comfort barrier and tore at my insecurity levels. 

I know that I should instead feel empowered. Gone are the days of my severe insecurities, why shall I let the hatred of strangers take me back to the days of darkness? I shall not. I am content with my life, I am content with my achievements and I am content with how I dress and how I act and how I feel and how I make others feel, I will not let two women who carry prejudicial pests have agency over my emotions. Let them stare. Let them talk. I am one with my mind and my mind and I are supreme.