fairness.

Maria won't deny she's wanted to be attractive as much as the next girl — maybe a little bit less, but there is always something about it in the back of her mind.

She's used to it by now, she says, how they always tell her how beautiful she is and how they always tell her it's not beautiful enough. What they profess in profuse, symphonically-underlined commercial words and inspirational scripts, she finds, they undermine — whether consciously or not, it doesn't make much difference — in their blatant prostration before shapelier, skinnier, symmetrical sirens.

Not that she's bitter about the whole thing, she would clarify in a careful, candid manner that belies a deep consideration of the topic. Contrary to the stream of feel-good media maxims that coo sweet nothings and massage at the aches of beauty denied, she considers herself simply not meant to partake in that particular slice of the apocryphal 'good life,' and she's made peace with that.

The consequences of her shape and weight do not escape her. Neither do they imprison her. She will not waste away defiantly, but she has determined not to go desperately out of her way to sculpt herself, chasing a futile attempt to alter her intrinsic value.

Everyone, she reasons, has worth that manifests itself in different ways. The whole spectrum of one's blessings comprises surprising combinations of qualities that are neither mutually exclusive nor inherently bound.

While the world might worship at the feet of its finest physical specimens, Maria remains content to pursue a worthier surrender.