Hey Mr Mirror,
How have you been lately? It’s been years since I last visited you, right? You still recognise me, don’t you? I am a bit sick so let me bring a chair because this is going to take a long. I hope at least you have enough time for me.
Where I’ve been? I sure will tell you…
How am I sick?? To be honest, I too lost track when I became weak. I need you Mr Mirror. I need your help.
I lost something. A part of mine that completes me. But I couldn’t come to a conclusion if it is my adolescent heart that I lost or my persona.
Mr Mirror, tell me when I used to visit you daily early in the morning before leaving for the work how did I look? Were my eyes smiling? Was I humming? Did I do my hair prettily? Was my skin glowing?
I did? Ahh I see. Glad, I did.
Now tell me about yourself
Mr Mirror, I am tired. Every day I wake up with a familiar pain that makes me anxious. My feet and hands are numb and I say, “No, not again!” and my day begins. I am afraid I might cry again. I am afraid I might be surrounded by million reasons to run away again.
The straight gaze of people, anticipating eyes, their inkling theories about my past are now straining me. They put me vulnerably under a magnifying glass where my every tissue is exposed for them to compute my probity. These acts led me to exterminate my naive thought for trusting every soul around me. Yet they didn’t settle even after thieving the colours in my rainbow.
I no longer shine instead I fight.
I can no longer cry, so I write.
The more I turn the pages the more I feel unlike me. I wasn’t like this before. I witnessed the birth of a new me who is heartless. Maybe heartbroken. There is nothing more left in me to be crushed. No one can put her pieces altogether. No one can instil fear in her for it needs space to reside. She fights, she cries. And when she hurts the people who hurt her they ask what happened to her? For them, the sudden outburst and outflow of truth are more concerning for their yellow-bellied selves.
Perhaps this is why one must not invade another’s home where humans keep their emotions packed in trunks. Now she has nowhere to hold them back.
So, do you sympathise with her??
I do feel bad. But I don’t like her. There is no good being her. Being the new me. There is no peace, warmth and hope. Hurting others isn’t bringing me tranquillity. I am always in a state of helpless agony. I say I want to go back with an unsettling fear of getting disappointed again. It’s a shame that I do not remember her anymore.
Mr Mirror, I do not have the memories of the happy me. You must have seen many. Did you ever capture any? Talk to me about her. Tell me how I was before. Remind me of how I enjoyed every night. Do spill some interesting stories of me.
Mr Mirror, please help me put myself together for one more time. Help me.