Piercing My Nose. Or Not.

This was going to be a story of feminism and self-ownership: The search for my nose began as a child. Mine was round and very unlike my mother's regal Roman nose. My birth father was long gone, but old photographs bore evidence of a nose bent and flattened from repeated breaking, a hazard of soccer and Spanish blood run hot. My nose did not have the narrow British look of my grandmother's nor the prominent Italian bulge of my grandfather's. It had no match, no ancestry, no belonging. ...more
Tamara, I saw on Facebook you did get it after all. Originally a small dot, and now a beautiful ...more
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