Lily Chronicles 2 (The Diary of a Rebel Beauty Queen)

It has been a week since I ascended the unseen throne of beauty queens. The past week was a giant blur of press conferences, interviews, photo shoots, meetings and carefully chosen public appearances. I feel exhausted. More from having my life planned and patterned by a bunch of so called professionals, than from the energy I have expended on these activities.

After weeks of training, practices and what nots, my shoulders still ache from being suddenly beaten from a perfect slouch to a broad square -in a bid to stand and sit straight at all times. Every now and again I feel like giving them respite by hunching them a little like I used to. It does not matter now that the social etiquettes drilled into us during camp seemed a bit far fetched to me then, because with each day that passes, my movements and lady-like mannerisms flow a lot more naturally.
You should have seen me when it all started, my movements were jerky and forced. Whoever says becoming a lady was an easy job?

Every dawn of day, a team of beauty ‘specialists’ is deployed to my room to ensure that I look like a million dollars; all bright and alluring. My face has come under the most attack from them as they form a coalition to wash it, cleanse it (apparently there is a world of difference between those two actions), brush it, dust it, pinch it, powder it, paint it, blush it and seal it (sigh). To think that I traded 11months of a splash of water on my face, chapstick and a dab of cologne for this!

You are probably thinking I am being ungrateful, many girls will practically give an arm to be here (isn’t it ironical that they wouldn’t crown them without that arm?). Quite a few peps and opportunities come with this platform I have been given.
Well, that is the ideal situation.
But the reality is, there are lots of under handed politicking and high priced greed going on behind the flowered drapes and attractive grins.

Infuriatingly,the pageant management discusses me like am not there. Everthing we do is (calculatively) for show. According to them, if it’s not high profile, it may not attract a lot of media attention; if it does not attract media attention, it does not get on the schedule and if it’s not on the schedule, it’s not worth pursuing.
Now, something as mundane as visiting with my family has to be on the schedule!
I mostly feel trapped as one in prison. Papers have been signed, so there’s little room for me to wiggle.

I hope the world knows, that though I may be the face, but the voice is theirs. Really, how come no one prepared me for this dark side of fame?

Already, the soft stories are pouring in. People want to make a few bucks even if they have to sell outright lies to get it; just as sad is the fact that very few want to buy the truth or go in search of it.

We would feed on anything (news), so far it has enough pull to distract us from the gnawing realities of our own lives.
Rather than walk through our differences or challenges to find their Achilles’ heels and shush the Lion’s roar, we would often deny or forsake them hoping they would grow wings and fly, but they just fester like gaping sores.
Then we point accusing fingers, hypocritically stoning the mirror for reflecting our images.

Were we not supposed to seek to buy the truth and not cheaply sell it off (in exchange for fleeting feel-good moments)?
Was that not the plan?

When did others’ mystery become comedy at our dinner tables? Whatever happened to ”all for one; one for all”?

Anyway, one week have I watched. One week have I learned. One week, I have observed individuals and tried to understand their motives. It’s been dreary playing their games their way. Dancing to their tunes is that much harder because they simply cannot hold a tune!
It’s time I took off the stilettos and got on my boxing gloves because whether it lasts one hour or one year, this right here, is the fight of my life.


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