"looking at one's self''
Sept. 23, 2001
I sit down on the side of
the bed...with pen and paper in hand and happen to glance at myself in
the mirror.
It's quiet here in my room,
no one to bother me but myself...music playing softly...
Never really thought about
looking at one's self in the mirror...something i have never really
done. It's hard to
look at yourself without any prejudice...In a way it could be a form of
meditation, of finding ones
self...
I could just imagine seeing
a glamor girl looking at herself in the mirror and all of a sudden see
a
tiny blemish and it set
off an entire alarm in her system....Not me....I am who i am...
I lower my head and look
up emotionless and expressionless...still as the mirror itself...My eyes
seem as if they should be
glowing red with this expression... How can I be this evil? I crack a
"smirk" and almost shatter
the mirror with the intensity of this evil look. I could be scheming to
do
anything with this look.
I laugh at myself and put
my hand in front of my face and pass it slowly over it...like a magic
wand to change the look.
I look at my entire head...nose,
mouth, eyes, ears, neck, and with the satisfaction and comfort...i
become slightly bored..
I haven't had but 2 cigarettes
today and feel as i must smoke one to battle the hungry
lungs....My hands clasp
the cigarette between the fingers and the smoke drools from my mouth
in puffs. My eyes squint
as the smoke lingers back into my face. I turn my head to let the smoke
pass through without interruption.
I exhale again and my lips form an "O" as if I were blowing a
kiss. Ooooooh.
I laugh once again at myself...thinking how silly this is to be doing this in front of a mirror.
I stub my cigarette out until
it's entirely extinguished and my mind becomes blank as I stare at
myself for several minutes.
The longer I stare, the more disillusioned I become... I seem to
become a being in itself
and begin to think that I am what I am; I am identical to myself. I can't
negate what I am seeing
because I become an object as flat as the mirror itself. I become the
fragile surface and a part
of the glass like a framed photograph. I have no depth or value....
I am painted on a two dimensional figure.
Someone is looking at me....
She stares deep into my eyes. She smiles, then grimaces. I wonder
what she is thinking behind
those, shifty eyes. I wonder who she is and what she wants with me.
Although I could possibly
know her, I feel tucked away inside myself and must be careful not to
do anything too embarrassing
in front of her. It's awkward sitting here just staring back at her. I
feel somewhat foolish. Maybe
she admires me or perhaps she hates me and is waiting for me to
make a move so she can attack
me as if she were a snake with those intense eyes. I close my
eyes and wonder if she can
still see me.
I could never know.... I
will never see her with my eyes tightly shut. I open my eyes and she is
still looking at me....
as she sits there in silence.
"What?" I ask her. "What are you looking at?"
She continues to stare
at me like a photograph or more like watching a video where the actor
looks right into the lens,
so it seems that she is looking directly at me.
"You stare at me and I wonder
what you see." I begin to admire her silence. I feel I truly know
her because I can see her
truths through her eyes. Her expression tells me all. Her eyes are full
of expressions.... Her eyes
are innocent. Her eyes tell me that she has a good-natured soul.
They tell me that she wants
someone to love her...
I don't think she knows the possibilities life has for her sometimes..
"How many tragedies have
you been through? How many things do you regret?" The guilt in her
eyes deepens; her face elongates
and her eyes shift back and forth into mine intensifying the
concentration between us.
She grows curious. Her eyebrows tighten and cradle her eyes with
lines.
"You look angry, but
I don't think you're angry because your eyes are so transparent that I
can
see your vulnerability."
She reminds me of a pufferfish, she tries to look angry and mean, but I
know she is honest and innocent
enough inside that she is harmless. I also know she is not
perfect and she screws up
a lot like everyone else in the world. That guilt in her eyes tells me
she has low self-esteem
sometimes...
"Let it go. I just want to see you smile. Smile for me."
Her eyes widen with
fear, but she manages to crack her lips downwards. I like her turned-over
smile; it's as if she's
actually afraid of smiling, but it's sweet.
"Why are you afraid
of smiling?" Her modesty shines through and lets out a tiny true smile
and
exhales with a breath of
laughter.
No matter how many
questions I ask her, she never answers. "Speak to me. Tell me your
truths." I shouldn't have
to ask her questions; I already know. I just want to hear her say it. She
only sits there and smiles
at me with a mischievous glow in her eyes...
She stands up and looks straight
into my eyes and waves...as she leaves the image behind.