Aloha. I am so white.

Over the last couple of months, there has been a positive invasion of beautiful Polynesian people at my college. They own the hallways now, with their thick, shiny hair and dark skin, their loud laughter and their white smiles, their strange languages. I don't know if they're Tongan or Hawaiian or anything else... I'm not educated enough to know the difference. All I know is that they are all so beautiful.
They call me Legs. Or Irish Girl. Or Snow White. They like to tease me, because I am their complete opposite when it comes to looks.
Beauty is such a personal concept. To me, those Polynesian girls with their broad hands and their flat noses, their coffee-dark eyes and dusky skin, are beautiful. My idea of beauty, I suppose, is personable beauty. I am afraid of those people with chiseled features and icy blue eyes, with a certain bearing, with a certain hauteur. They scare me into becoming nothing more than a puddle of water on the floor. (I know some of you are picturing that scene from Amélie. That is exactly what I mean.)
My mother likes Brad Pitt and Ricky Martin. Karen likes Pierce Brosnan. So many girls I know love Jude Law, Matt Damon, Ryan Philippe. Boys I know love Uma Thurman, Gwyneth Paltrow, Angelina Jolie. Meeting any of these people would make me scramble underneath a desk in terror, whether they were celebrities or not. It's simply the way they look.
I want a Ewan McGregor. A Christian Bale. An Orlando Bloom. Someone who is comfortably handsome, who is livably good-looking. If I had to wake up every day next to Jude Law, life would be so uncomfortable... because he is just too pretty.
It really is possible.