Pourquoi pas?

02Jun08

Mirror, mirror, on the wall

At the end of my mind’s hall…

I walk over to the mirror. And I stare. Why is that girl always staring back at me? Does she live in the mirror? Really, she should try and go other places. She could be a painting on the empty wall. Or maybe she could be a photo in a nice frame on the bedside table? She’s always there. Staring back with empty eyes. She feigns emotion.

I try turning away from her and start focusing on myself, but most of the time, it just doesn’t work. I mean, really, there’s not much space in the mirror anyway. It’s either her or myself that is there. It rarely is myself. On very rare occasions, I see myself staring back. And I cherish those moments, really.

Let me tell what she looks like. Frankly, this girl looks a lot like I do, except she’s a phony. She has the messy unbrushed hair, the bangs that bring out her eyes, and the straight teeth. On most days, she’s even wearing what I’m wearing! She even gives off the same vibe. Because if I was walking down the street and bumped into me, that’s the vibe I would give off to myself.

How do I know she’s a phony? Well, she’s always stealing my feelings. She’s in a pensive mood when I’m in a pensive mood. She’s tired when I’m tired. She’s happy when I’m happy. She’s everything I am. Now, you know what I mean by her feigning emotions. I mean, I know she’s trapped in that mirror, but can’t she have a life of her own? Can’t she have something go on in the mirror instead of trying to steal my moments with myself? Annoying, isn’t it?

So, I think to myself, what if I break the mirror? Will she die in there? Or will she spread herself in the million little pieces of reflections? Or maybe I’ll set her free? You know, these questions sometimes drive me to thinking of lifting the mirror high over my head with both hands and bringing it down hard on the floor. Hmm? What will happen then?

Today, when I glanced in the mirror, she gave off this psychotic air. She confused me a little. I felt myself going through that out of body experience where you’re standing over yourself and sneering. You know? Of course, not. You’re not me, you see. You don’t deny that you are your reflection.

—

Above is an example of what happens when I pour my heart out on paper as an unrested, hormonal insomniac. Yes, I am psychotic at times. I don’t bite, though. I just give murderous looks.

This morning, or rather, yesterday morning, Sou did a “well shameful” thing. Shame on you. But hey, you gave my mother the relief of knowing that my friends outdo my craziness, and therefore, I won’t stand out in public. So, thank you for that. I’m kidding. It wasn’t shameful at all. We should do more random stuff like that. I’m already thinking of dares for the summer course. The four of us will see each other everyday. Loads of time on our hands for more, “innit though?”

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