Track.

I have a pimple on my nose. I wonder if there's a certain age when pimples just stop popping out from random areas of my face.

Which reminds me, I actually don't know how to do personal grooming on myself. I don't know how to shape my eyebrows or curl my eyelashes with mascara or that eyelash curler thingy. Wow, thingy doesn't have a red squiggle underneath it. I must've used that word so many times that I managed to fool Blogger to believe it's a real word. I don't know how to use anything in a make-up kit and I just found out about this thing called the bronzer just a month back. I don't use moisturizer or any sort of cream on my face and skin which prolly caused the pimple to sprout.

Or not. I could still have those oh-my-goodness-I'm-in-the-transition-of-being-a-hormonal-teenager-whut hormones inside my body.

I'm not sure if this is going to be a plus point since this is as natural as anyone can get or just one of the many obstacles because I'm à la cavewoman when the search of a boyfriend in my university years begins.

Going into cosmetic shops like M.A.C or Sephora gives me the heebie jeebies because it is such an awkward place for a person who is a total lost when it comes to cosmetics to be. Put me in a big ass bookstore cramped with books or a two-floored CD shop filled with CDs on each shelf and you will summon the Gandhi in me. The smell of new books and the feeling of the plastic wrapper of an unopened CD has some kind of therapeutic effect on my body because my body just goes on calm mode. But a Bobbi Brown or uhm, insert-some-random-female-name-that-sounds-like-an-expensive-cosmetic-brand shop? Awkwaarrddd.

I might be the only girl among people my age who is all 'no thank you, make-up. I'm happy with the sebum resting on my face'. Maybe in five years' time, I'll be one of those people who goes into these shops to get the finest concealer. Har har.