I always found my nails to be an extension of my femininity, the way femininity is an extension of the female self. These ideals are built off of the simple fact that I would never consider myself "feminine". And like many adjectives, the more you find yourself straying away from one, the more reasons you find to widen the gap. My nails just happened to be one of the many ostracizing me from that word I longed for, in which my friends belonged, and in which was so far away due to my insecurities. I've bit my nails for as long as I can remember, most likely due to the fact that it was a habit. I never had to think about it, it just happened. One moment I would have nails peaking just slightly over my fingertips like a sunrise on a mountain, the next they would be gone like forever night. My uncle made sure to point it out when he visited from China when I was 8.

I remember him grabbing my hand, pinching the base of my fingers to feel for the width, feeling my fingertips to see the touch I would leave. He examined every wrinkle of skin to come to the simple conclusion that my hands were the farthest from feminine because feminine hands had long slender fingers, nails that shone like the sun at noon, and skin that was tender to the touch. All of which my hands were not. I was 8 when I started piano, an instrument that my uncle had deemed feminine, an effort for 8-year-old me to prove that though these hands were not feminine, they were able. I was 14 when I quit piano, my stubby fingers too short to play the fast octaves with ease. 

The piano was easy in theory, you pressed keys down in order to make a sound, however, I soon learned that it was actually quite difficult. I like to believe I genuinely liked the instrument despite the wall I knew I would at some point face due to my short fingers. I played Pachelbel Canon in D for my first recital. It was my first dive into classical music yet I wore baggy jeans paired with my red nikes. This soon proved to be a fatal mistake when my second recital rolled along and a girl a year or two younger played the same arrangement. "Look at her 气质(qi zhi)," my mom whispered to me in the audience. 

气质 is a word that is all too familiar if you were my mothers daughter. A Chinese word that directly translates to temperament or aura, a nature that you are born with. My mother always brought up this word to point out the feminine aura of the women around me, the beautiful and smart women I tended to surround myself with.

6th grade, I was still biting my nails. The white tip that my teeth could reach under, replaced by a squiggly uneven edge. I learned to dig the tip of a toothpick into the crevice between my nail and the bed of skin it laid upon to give the illusion of nails long enough to separate itself from fleshy pink. To give myself the sensation of the control I did not have.

This past year, I befriended the most beautiful people in the large world that resided in my tiny mind. In my mothers words, their 气质 was one that radiated femininity. They talked about makeup products I never heard about, they got their nails done every month with intricate and colorful designs that I could only dream of. I choked this up to the simple fact that I played an instrument, but in reality, the oboe only required the fleshy pink parts of my fingers. Thus, I decided to settle for the second-best option, nail polish. 

Although my nails were still short, nail polish was my new attempt at an old problem. I got the color maroon. I liked how it looked on my less-than hands and even more on my lesser fingernails. How it sparkled at exactly one angle and slightly shone at all others. The next color I added to my collection was a blank white, then a shimmering clear, I even mixed the white and the maroon to get an over-the-top pink. The simple happiness that painting my nails would eventually grow into something I had never expected, however, lingering thoughts still haunted the corners of my mind like lipstick on a pig.