This post is a timepiece from the vaults of my hard drive. Minor edits have been made yet the originality is preserved.
I woke up this morning and took a long, hard look in the mirror. To my astonishment, a stranger looked at me from a safe distance.
“Who are you?” I asked.
“You,” was her reply.
I looked again at the face glaring at me with surprise. What happened to my long hair, to the sparkle in my eyes and to that radiant face?
Time was all I could think of on that cold autumn morning, time and its ravages that have eroded certain aspects of myself. No longer was I a carefree university student in my early twenties, full of excitement and ambition for a future that lay dormant for four years.
Twenty-first birthdays had become a faded memory. Late night parties did not terminate before 2 am. University was an exchange of ideas and intellect. Optimism was at its peak. A guarantee of employment at the end was a fait accompli. Economic recession was not on everybody’s lips. Graduation signified more than a piece of paper that adorned a blank wall. It was the symbol of freedom, of an open-door to a fulfilling future.
Today, we live in a recycled age. Fashion and styles mimic those of past decades. Popular music lacks original appeal. Political correctness is mandatory. Our philosophy has to conform with everyone else’s. We struggle to keep our jobs. We are forced into heavy workloads and long hours. Yet we are easily replaceable. We are readily retrenched. Our entire lives could alter at any moment. And we must learn to accept it and move on.
We do not live. We exist.
I look at my pale cheeks and sad expression. My skin is not as taut as before. My figure is not as slender as it has always been. I am fading away.
I get dressed for work. My wardrobe reflects classic styles. I look deflated and demure. I apply make-up in natural colours. I brush my hair. Are these dark circles under my eyes? Did I always resemble my mother?
I stare into the mirror again. I look so bland…
I pick up my recycled birthday card. I place it on the dressing table. I reach for my signature lipstick. I apply it slo-w-ly. I take another look at myself. I smile.
I am a year older today.
