Mirror mirror on the wall…

[ D ] Edgar Degas - Madame Jeantaud in the mir...

[ D ] Edgar Degas – Madame Jeantaud in the mirror (1875) (Photo credit: Cea.)

I don’t remember the first time I peeped into the mirror. But as far as I remember…

Initially it always showed me a gangly kid. One who looked older than her age, with thin long limbs, protruding belly and wild curly hair that did not belong in the family. It reminded of several bullying incidents by the playmates, of being called a ‘junglee’, ‘porcupine’, of hair being pulled, being teased endlessly by own cousins and coming home defeated, to peep into mirror and wonder why I looked like this – so different from my own family…

My parents sometimes noticed this – me starring into the mirror and trying to pull my hair straight. I always told them why…They never taught me to retaliate  but always assured me – that I looked pretty. That my hair was different than others and the kids tease me because they were just curious. To all the parents, their kids are obviously the most beautiful beings on this earth, but I think my parents’ reassurance worked for me in some magical way….the mirror at my home became a source of comfort, it would show me in better light than any other mirror. Ever…

Several years went like this – I would look into mirror only to find blemishes and went through what can only be called a super awkward childhood+teenage+young adulthood. Majority of it, self – imposed, due to insecurities out of experiences from people other than family..

But as I grew older, I would realise that the mirror at my home showed me the best than any other mirror – the mirror in the school / college/ friend’s place/ relatives’ place / even a public place… I remember, if I felt shabby in the ladies common room mirror, I would just look at myself once more at home to wonder why  – because I looked okay. Not shabby at all… Every time, the mirror at home always worked for me, never failed. It showed a smooth skin, alert brownish eyes, the big teeth that I had, looked just a perfect fit to my jaw in there…and my curly mop of hair just rested fine there. Turn of curls sometimes even looked beautiful – no frizz, no out of control wig like it looked elsewhere….I looked just okay, like any other girl of my age…I just felt fine. By that time, the mirror probably knew me as well as my family. My nature, my true self – Which was unknown to the most of my peers  . .Over the time, I stopped feeling ugly.. I felt okay. I looked okay. Even while pursuing MBA, when I was amidst of the hottest and heppest girls ever, I looked okay. 🙂

I don’t remember when ‘I look okay’  – turned into ‘I look fine’. Eventually, I came to terms with my looking and being my own self. I guess I started accepting myself. My thoughts, my nature, my conflicting natures, two sides – a shy geekish one that loved to read books and reflect on life and a more daring one, that wanted to experiment more with life and make a statement. I am not sure today which of these survived or what have I eventually become into, but I guess for last few years, my mirror always makes me happy when I look into it. It remains better than other mirrors, as always, even here in Indonesia, but now I don’t look into this mirror for reassurance. I don’t need a mirror for that. Yes, I might not be beautiful or glamorous for that matter, I am me. Good old me. These days, I feel the dimple on my cheek is more prominent than it ever was and I look more my age than I ever looked before, my hair is more tame than it ever was…. I am at peace with myself……

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