|
|
Tuesday, Jan. 13, 2004 - 9:41 p.m. BLUE There was a day when I was a child when I would look in this mirror and see an innocence more beautiful than any person on Earth. As time went on, that mirror became dirty and faded so that I began to find it hard to trace the outlines of my face. When I wiped the mirror clean, I saw the face I see now, sullen and worn. Whatever innocence that once existed was wiped away with the dirt and grime. There is one part of the mirror though, that never got dirty. It seemed as though this one spot, large enough only to encompass my eyes, never became foggy when the room became steamy and never collected a speck of dust. During the time the rest of the mirror was dirty, I could see only my eyes in this spot, the most beautiful feature of my face. They remained a permanent fixture of that innocence, so that when the mirror was cleaned, that spot that showed my eyes remained untouched, while the rest of the mirror seemed warped and stained by time. When I look at my eyes in this mirror, and they see back at me, I see a glimpse of a timeless eternity that somehow has remained untouched by age. But this spot in the mirror almost seems to mock me. By its staying new while everything else has become worn, it has created a contrast that, over time, has become difficult to bear. I begin to wonder why only one spot should remain so innocent, so ethereal, while everything else falls to decay. The rest of myself feels hated and rejected, spat out by the toils of life. Yet all the while this spotless section reflects back my eyes, all the very same and beautiful as they were when I was a child. I have seen shiny lakes and snow-capped mountains, sunrises and sunsets over the ocean, and fields of colorful flowers, but none of these sights has rivaled the vision of my eyes in this tiny part of the mirror. They remain fixed and unmovable, gleaming and bright, as though to invite me toward a mystery that I should strive to understand. But they remain speechless, with my pupils expanding and contracting, as though to pull me in only to push me back out. What shocks my heart more than any sight is the vision of these eyes tearing in the mirror. When I see the droplets streaming, the mirror shows them begging me for mercy, begging anyone to behold them to know that they exist. Too often, they tear until they run dry as no one runs to their rescue. And the rest of the mirror seems to warp and age all the more while the puddles below become dry. Ever since my childhood, I cannot remember anyone else using this mirror except me. I think at one point I came to the realize that I am the only one foolish enough to use this old mirror. I have been asked a few times by some women who wanted to put on their make-up using the mirror, but when I began to show it to them, they would look at my eyes and turn away. When they turned their back on me, I am not sure whether they used the mirror or not. I tend to think not, considering that most of the time, you can only see through one spot. Every now and then, I pull out that aging mirror, and peer through that spot just to see if my eyes have changed, but they have always remained the same. They remain as beautiful and innocent as ever before, just as they did the first time I saw them when I was a child. I wonder if anyone else’s eyes look this beautiful in my mirror. Or if my eyes look this beautiful to them. I have to wonder because no one has ever said so. |