Sunday I watched a documentary on hummingbirds. I had known close to nothing about these creatures, save that they exist. I’ve never been a bird enthusiast, but these little ones completely hypnotised me. I am amazed at how such a tiny beings can encompass such perfection. Blazing lightnings of colour through the forest, perfectly in control of their wonderfully engineered bodies, with all the grace and the strength only a deep consciousness of your skills can bring.

I want to be an hummingbird.

I feel like I’ve been an ostrich so far, just an eccentric mockery of a bird, who can’t fly and tries to hide in the silliest of ways. I want to bloom to my full potential. I have always envied those chicks (it’s about birds right?) who look like they’ve been cut out of a magazine: perfect tan, perfect make up, perfect hair, perfect body, perfect clothes… I used to trick myself into thinking I wasn’t interested in all the tortures beauty involves, that I couldn’t be bothered with the endless rituals, that there was more to me than looks.

The depths of the ocean may not even begin to describe what’s beneath my surface, but the confidence that beauty brings is a weapon no woman should ever abandon. I have, in so many ways.

It’s not about being super-model stunning, I’d have to reverse engineer ALL of my genes, it’s about the consciousness of your potential. It’s about knowing what men think when they look your way, and knowing they do, it’s about holding them in your hand them just with a flutter of your lashes. Let’s be honest, you don’t need to be Bar Rafaeli, men are so much more stupid than that. If you are Bar Rafaeli, you can have the same result in your pyjamas, for all of us common mortals it takes quite some heavy-maintenance more, but it’s far from impossible.

Unlike us non-supermodel-humans, a female hummingbird doesn’t need to do anything at all to be noticed. Males will literally dive on her just to be awarded a single glance. She is so sublime only thanks to Mother Nature. We are so not, but chemistry comes to our help.

Have you ever acknowledged how your hands tend to move differently when you wear nail polish? That’s the idea. It’s not because that hue matches you eyes, it’s not apprehension that it might chip, it’s the way it affects your being. I remember that night, 10 years ago, when walking down Elm Grove alone I realised the sound of my heels on the sidewalk was the sound of a woman walking by. I had it back then, but I lost the feeling along the way.

I had discussed this with my therapist, but evidently I wasn’t ready yet. Why bother with a lace thong, if nobody is going to see it? Wrong. I remember a hundred years ago a friend of mine had to turn down a guy she liked because on that day of all she hadn’t attended to her legs properly. Always be ready.

I am ready to rise to the next level, just to see how it goes. In the meantime, “I’ll make myself beautiful for training” as well, just as I’ve been praised. Hummingbird – Ostrich 1:0.

And this is another thing that doesn’t work anymore with my husband. He just doesn’t see me as a hummingbird, he sees the ostrich and finds it tender. No matter how many times he may tell me I’m beautiful, which is not that many and not when he should, what I see in his eyes is an ostrich with little red hearts all around. I want to see fire in a man’s eyes. I know it’s probably all my fault, but it’s got to change. I thought this would be normal after some time with the same person, truth is I miss it too much to just expect to do without it.

I used to believe that you have to be able to share everything with your man, that an ostrich is what I am and WYSIWYG. I like to call it the engineer syndrome. Basically, after spending a little too much time amongst engineers, who are typically men and quite often single and nerd, you just start to behave like them: cheap movies, swearing and all the other distasteful things a 13-year-old boy does included – no further detail needed. I used to feel liberated at the idea that I could be like that with a man and still be appreciated as a girl. I’d like to try something else now. I am still going to laugh at dirty jokes, hell there’s nothing I can do about it, I just find them funny, but maybe I’ll just have to refrain from telling them myself. At least with certain kinds of company.

I’ll have to start caring for the little details, waking up five minutes earlier to put on my make up, go to the hairdresser before it’s TOO late, spending an awful lot of money in clothes. It’s going to be hard to adjust, but I hope it’s worth it. I can get back to swearing and sneakers in no time anyway.

I do this for me, but I hope it’s going to help with everything that is out there as well.