Category: essay

Wasted



Eight years and a million lies later, we were over.
No one saw it coming. That’s for sure. But after seeing your fiancé practically shoving his tongue down another woman’s throat while his hand was discovering the softness of her underwear, he deserved the black eye he is now sporting. My best friend, who was with me at the time spilled her drink all over him, then applauded my right hook. And to make the situation more cliché as it is, I caught him the night before our wedding on his bachelor party. I guess couples didn’t see each other before the wedding for a reason. Lesson learned I guess.
I’ve shut my hotel door and locked it, only open to the bell boy who delivered my food and never questioned my red eyes. My phone has been ringing nonstop, my mother the prime caller.
“It was just wedding jitters honey!” She would say. “I’m sure you could just kiss and make up!”
My best friend however had other ideas, plotting a murder and a funeral. Murder for the woman, funeral for my ex: dead or alive. We both snickered as she prank called my ex and imitated the voice of the guy from Saw. His girly scream was bloody hilarious.
I spent all morning deleting every picture of us in every social website, while drinking my worries away with milkshake. I opened his Facebook, evilly changing his password. I then proceeded to throw away his clothes outside the window of what was supposed to be our honeymoon suite. I soon fell asleep to Bruno Mars serenading me, feeling at peace after what felt like the worst day of my life.
Loud desperate knocks practically pushed me out of the bed, making me yelp in surprise. I took my trusty hair curler and pointed it at the door as I looked through the peep hole. I expected a knife or a chainsaw to thrust through the door, a result of my obsession with horror movies. What I didn’t expect was my ex, flowers and chocolates in hand. He nervously ran his hand through his hair before knocking again. I pretended to be asleep, not making another sound.
“I know you’re awake. You’re not exactly a heavy sleeper Andy. And please put the hair curler down before you open the door?” he said, and I imagined a smirk tugging at the side of his lips.
I cursed under my breath, hating the fact that this guy knew me better than anyone else. With shaking hands I opened the door, ready to count how many apologies he’s about to make.
“I’m sorry about last night, I was so drunk I didn’t even know what I was doing and I’m sorry I didn’t run after you after you punched me, your friend poured margarita all over me and it made me sticky and I’m sorry for-“
The slap resounded through the empty hallway, making him shut up. Three apologies in one ridiculous sentence were too much. I took a deep breath, before looking straight at his stupefied face. He still had the black eye I gave him, but it looked like it was covered with a concealed. His skin looked pale, his lips dry. But he was still frustratingly handsome, with his squared jaw and hazel eyes. My resolve almost melted at the sight of him so vulnerable. Almost.
Snapping out of my thoughts, I looked at him straight in the eye, before opening my mouth.
“One, stop talking fast. Two, as an English major you insulted me with that apology. Pauses were made for a reason and conjunctions should not be overused. Three, you weren’t even that drunk, because if you were you would have passed out already. We both know after two shots you’d be ready to lie down anywhere, even if it was on the street. Four, pick up your clothes on the floor or I’d have my best friend burn it. And lastly, I don’t want to see you again.” 

And with that ladies and gentlemen, I closed my door, or maybe slammed it on his face. The groan from the other side of the door told me the latter happened.
I smiled at myself while looking at the peephole, watching him pick up his clothes. Soon enough he left; grumbling unintelligible things under his breath. I felt relieved, then doubtful, then finally depressed. All under 10 seconds. I was relieved he left; at least I was strong enough not to melt onto his arms. I felt doubtful, as I looked back on our relationship. How many times did he cheat before he got caught? It hit me like a ton of bricks, the lies, the deceit and the fact that I lost not only my boyfriend, but also a best friend.
This made me sad the most, the fact that I lost someone who knew me at my worst and best times. I sobbed like a maniac, as flashes of memories crept on me like a ninja cutting onions. I wouldn’t doubt it if my neighbours began to complain about a wailing hyena. And as if on cue, someone knocked on my door.
“Ms. Sanchez?” A muffled voice said from the other side.

I tried to ignore whoever it was, and it pierced my heart to be called by my last name. By this time I should be Mrs. Rodrigez, but no, I was still MISS Sanchez. I sighed, sobbing once more onto my pillow. When I calmed down I finally got to look around my room. 

The once neat and organized room was now a mess, much like my life. I felt alone and terribly stupid. I felt sorry for myself. I felt like he took my heart then crumpled it to throw away. I thought about the things we had together, and all the wasted effort and time for a jerk. And though I’ve never had a drop of alcohol in my body, I felt wasted. 

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Totally fiction. I’m feeling gloomy as the rainy season intensifies here in the Philippines. I hope you had a nice weekend!

Someone asked me about you

Someone asked me about you a few days ago. They asked me who was the girl that made me grin like a lunatic. It made me stop and think how to tell them about you. I looked up the sky in hope to find inspiration.

I could have said “She looks like Aphrodite.”

But then that wouldn’t do you justice. So I searched again for the right words, trying to think about you. I thought about your hair, the way it curled at the end. I thought about your lips, how they perfectly melted into mine. I thought about your eyes. Damn your eyes. They would entrance me every time I saw it, and I never wanted to look away.

My friends looked at me expectantly, waiting for an answer. I searched for words again. They laughed at me and told me I was whipped, and I never denied it. The breeze coming from the trees stirred my hair, as we walked back to our office. Then after awhile, I turned to them and said:

“Have you ever been to the beach?”

They all nodded looking curiously at me, and I continued:

“Well she’s like that. Close. When you’re around her you feel a certain breeze float through. You feel relaxed, and the deeper you dig into the sand, the more happier and carefree you would feel. You feel like you could just run all the way to the other side of an island.

Like water she reflects. She can reflect someone’s happiness as if it were her own. At night when everything’s dark, she glows. Every indent a person makes in the sand she takes and she keeps it in her memory. Every wave gentle and she washes up treasures from her own self.

She can make you listen to everything she says, just like how you’d want to listen to the sounds of the ocean. Sure she sometimes turns into storms and wreaks havoc, but she does everything she could to make it up to you. You know what I mean?”

I looked at the three of them, each had a different expression. After awhile they smiled at me, and patted my back. We each went in the building’s elevator, and we pressed our different floors.

“We hope to meet her soon okay man?” One of them said when he reached his floor.

 After a while I was alone as the elevator continued to make my stomach drop. As I heard a familiar ding I walked out and proceeded to walk towards my cubicle. My neighbor smiled at me, her gaze kind. I then sit down on my computer and log in. I smile as I see you face, smiling brightly into the camera. You were showing off your engagement ring, a blush on your cheeks. My eyes then look further below the picture, with the text:

My beloved angel,
1988-2010

Crumpled Paper

I stare at it. And it stares back at me. I may look like an idiot for looking at this damned paper for two hours, crumpling and uncrumpling it, I just have a feeling that I shouldn’t throw it away. And so to no one’s surprise, I open the paper again. I stare at it, wishing that it would fill up by itself. I examine the yellow paper that has blue lines, but alas the only words written was the same thing I have written two hours ago.

“She ran through the corridor, her red dress torn..”

Ugh. What next? Damn this writer’s block! I crumple it again, this time like I was going to tear it apart. I put my head down on my desk, full on exhausted. I begin to play characters in my head. And one by one they come alive in my mind.

“She ran through the corridor, her red dress torn. He catches up to her, a knife behind his back. His face is calm, charming even..”

My head snaps up, and I look for my crumpled paper. I frantically search for it, almost flipping over the office. I mentally slap myself for throwing it away. I check my table and my chair but I never found it. I knew I shouldn’t have thrown it away. I peer into my trash can, separating the bond paper from my yellow paper. Good thing I never throw gross stuff in here.

“Hey you okay? You need anything? Your office is a mess.” Gaby suddenly says in one breath.

I struggle not to roll my eyes at him. He was still eye candy after all. I smile at him and say,

“Nothing I can’t handle.”

He then gives me a thumbs up, and walks out of my office. He was lucky to be an art specialist. He’d never experience writer’s block like I do. I suddenly remember what I was doing and I search my papers once again. When I had the yellow papers in one container, I began to open them one by one. Lo and behold, I discovered some old stories I tried to write earlier this week. My eyebrows scrunch together as I read them. I wrote stories that started great, then ended up with dot.dot.dot. Some had titles, some didn’t. Titles and endings were my kryptonite. I read on.

“You can do this. You can do this. You can do this. I repeated this mantra over and over again till I reached our apartment door. As it creaked open, Eric shouted..”

“A single heartbeat. A whisper. A moment that could never be repeated..”

“I stare at the man who is so called my husband. He’s ridiculously putting on his tie, his thumbs graciously moving. He looks at me with a small smile..”

Wow. I never thought that I wrote these. I look at all the crumpled paper around me, all with a story to share. I blink, and a ridiculous rush goes through me. I want to finish all of this! I suppressed a squeal, knowing fully that I was known around the office as the “weird writer”. I start up to my desk, and I do an eenie meenie miney mo on which story I should do first. That’s when I saw it.

Sam’s cat, the woman next to my office, was playing with one of my yellow papers. I stand up and try to grab the paper, but to my misfortune the cat ran. I sigh, running my fingers through my black hair. I put my hair into a messy bun and sat down. I look at the papers once again. All crumpled papers, each one with an amazing story.

 The question is: What’s next? That’s for me to decide. 😀

Bully Acceptance



If you took one look at me today, you’d say that I’m a feisty girl and “mataray”. Some even have called me “over confident”, being able to say what I want and do anything I want within reason. You can look at me and say that I’m really comfortable with the fact that I’m always by myself, that I could handle anything. But you know what? Since I was a kid I haven’t changed much. And though presently my characteristics as being temperamental and being brave enough to do things may be seen as something unique, but when I was a kid it was seen as a threat. A threat I usually had to face by myself.
Growing up, I was taught the difference between right and wrong. I was taught that you should always put yourself in the other person’s shoes, causing me to think critically, to be sympathetic and to be understanding.  This caused me to have loyal friends when I was in elementary. But this also caused me to have the worst enemies. 
Although I had friends, I still like the thought of being alone at times. I wasn’t a real loner, it was just I was more comfortable keeping things to myself. I realized this just as I was turning seven years old, because I loved to wander around my school usually alone. There was a spot just above our cafeteria where I would just sit and eat my snacks. I would climb to the highest point of the stairs and just ate by the door of the second floor since the door was usually locked.
In class, I was the “new waraynon girl” because my family moved from Tacloban to Maasin because of my mom’s work. So while adjusting to the new language, I spoke in English because I was so used to hear my mom speak english. Although a lot were amazed of how I spoke english, some didn’t. I was branded as “sosyalera” because I couldn’t speak Tagalog that well. But that was the least of my problems when it came to bullying.
One normal day I went up to my usual spot during snack time. While I was going up the stairs, I noticed my classmates’ shoes on the bottom of the stairs. I didn’t think too much of it, knowing that the 2nd floor was open because there was a program there that day. Suddenly my classmates cajoled me into going inside, and that’s when I realized they were the naughty boys who were always sent to the principal. 
Suddenly one of them ran off with my half-eaten sandwich. I impulsively ran after him, when the tallest one in their group held my hand tightly, hugging me slightly. He then motioned his hand and hovered it to my “down there” area. Thinking fast, I held my bottle full of water that was hung on my shoulder and hit his head hard with it. I ran before any of his friends caught up with me. I was scared. I don’t remember much, but I do remember not going to school the next day, saying I was sick. I then told my mom everything, and they were sent to the principal. But sadly, they never stopped there.
About a year after, when I was eight, they were still my classmates. There was a time in class, when the teacher would ask everyone who sat at the back to come forward. Since I was already at the front I didn’t have to move. Unfortunately, the bullies sat at the back, and they comfortably sat in front of me. Now I want you to imagine what kind of desks we had. It was a wooden desk just like the ones at church where there was a seat at the front. So the boys would sit there, and when the teachers weren’t looking they would reach below, and they would try to hitch up my skirt. Now comes the humiliating part. When I told the teacher upfront during class, she only said that the boys were just playing around. But it made me uncomfortable, and I knew it wasn’t right. But my classmates were laughing at me for being so “sensitive” so I never really told anyone that. I didn’t like anyone touching me “down there” anymore. It’s still true to this day. I just wasn’t comfortable.
Luckily, the next year I got into a class which didn’t include them. But then the other gender began to pick on me. I always wanted to have something different, and I used to have this bead set wherein I’d make my own bracelets. One time this girl from my class called it ugly, and ripped it from my hand causing the beads to fall to the ground. But for some reason I didn’t care anymore. The next year my family moved back to Tacloban and I was happy to be finally rid of all the bullies. Little did I know that there were more out there.
I was in fifth grade when I transferred. I naturally didn’t know anyone, except for those whom I had summer classes with, but we weren’t close. It was harder to make friends when you had a Bisaya accent and you were the youngest in class. They didn’t understand me, the things I was doing. 
On the first few weeks of class, I didn’t have my uniform yet because the tailor wasn’t finished with them yet. So I wore either shorts or pants to school, and pairing them with my blouses that my mom bought for me. Since I was comfortable anyway with being myself, I played in the playground by myself. It was a sad sight to be honest, but I really didn’t care. I would go to the library alone, immersing myself with books. The librarian who worked there is still my friend to this day.
Soon enough, the teasing started. They began calling me “Miss Playground” or the girl who loved to flaunt her Barbie blouses. I was ashamed, so I never went to playground alone again. I pleaded my mom for my uniform, and I got them. I was soon making friends with the very people who bullied me, because I knew they just didn’t know me enough so they judged me. It was in the middle of the school year when I found a best friend, so I felt like everything was going to change. As usual, I was wrong.
In sixth grade, my “best friend” began ignoring me, so I was once more on my own. I found a “sister” though, and we became inseparable. But when we befriended two other girls, we became “personal assistants” in a way. They made it clear that they were the Alphas and we were the Betas. My friend and I didn’t mind though. We still enjoyed being with each other.
But although I had a best friend, I was never comfortable in telling people my problems. That’s when I discovered my love for writing. I wrote everything I could think about, all my bottled up feelings. Until the day my adviser took my diary, and I felt outraged. To make things worse, it was my own best friend who ratted me out. But as forgiving as I am, it didn’t bother me. When graduation day came, I thought it was bound to get better. Not.
I was shocked on the first day of highschool when I saw my name in the “smart” class. I was so used on being in the average class that all my friends were in the average class. So I was pretty intimidated when I entered the classroom. I felt like I was being judged, like they sensed that I didn’t belong in that room with them. I was lucky that my “sister” was in that same class, but she quickly had her own group of friends. 
And as try as I might, I was never really accepted into the group she was in. I always felt left out. I usually came home crying, blaming myself for being so darn different. There was a time when I cried in school, but I always composed myself, not letting them see me broken. As used I was to being alone, I really wanted to feel accepted for once in my life. I was going through the “identity crisis” stage, and I lowered myself into picking up their trash, being as obedient as a dog, just so they would finally accept me. I just wanted to please them. But everything just backfired. Soon enough they were calling me a cruel name, “Chimiaa” At first I didn’t understand it, but then I had a feeling it meant maid. That was the night I attempted what no twelve year old should do, I attempted suicide. 
I was just so tired of everything. Of not being smart enough, of not being pretty enough, and all that jazz. I ended up just having a small wound, which was easily covered by my watch. Stupidly enough, I was afraid of blood, so I didn’t go through with making a big wound.
 From that time on, I always resorted to hurting myself. I knew it was wrong, but other than writing there wasn’t another way to get it out. I secretly did it, hating myself the next morning. Then when I was in my sophomore year, I did the stupidest thing. I let them read my diary. They liked how I wrote, so I let them read it. It became a novel to them, and I was happy to have pleased them. I have let the bully accept me. From then on, I got used to get picked on. I got used to being pushed around. As long as I had “friends.”
Fortunately for me, when I was in my senior year they became my real friends. I also had other friends from the lower years, and I felt like the world was at last in balance. I didn’t feel bullied anymore. They just had to know me to be able to accept me. I felt happy. That was when I built my confidence. That was when I looked back and saw that I would never be the person to be stepped on again. That gave me confidence. Having friends who didn’t really talked about me behind my back and having an understanding boyfriend helped too.
So to clear everything up, that’s my story. I was bullied and I walked away from it. Through the tragedies, through the mess and everything else in between, I could tell myself I was really strong and brave because I was able to endure all of that. I know that after you people read this, some of you will pity me. Please don’t. Because without all that, I wouldn’t be the girl I am today. Strong, confident and ready to face anything. 
My point is this though: not everyone could have been as brave as I was. Not everyone could have been strong enough. So after you read this I hope you realize that bullying is not something to be overlooked. I was lucky enough that I had writing to distract me from everything. But what about the kid you taunted? Is it fair to think that they have something to distract them from the pain you caused? Always, and I repeat, ALWAYS, put yourself in their shoes. This is why I never resorted to bullying myself, because I put myself in other people’s shoes. You should never judge a person so easily. Be human enough to think about what they might be going through.

Could you be human enough to put yourself in their shoes?

LDR (long distance relationship)


Have you ever heard of the saying: “Absence makes the heart grow fonder”? I’ve revised that. Absence makes the heart grow fonder, farther yet stronger.
In this generation, with internet and cell phones connecting people easily from one part of the world to the other, long distance relationships have become rampant. More and more people become a couple via text, chat or by the thousands of online dating sites. And as I have heard, read and even recently experienced, maintaining a long distance relationship(LDR) is never easy.
My mom and dad have known each other for almost 30 years. And since day one, they’ve been in a long distance relationship. They even met through my dad’s niece who gave dad mom’s address. Since dad was taking up college out in the province and mom lived in the city, they formed their relationship through snail mail. And as mischievous as I am, I’ve seen and (secretly) read almost all of their letters. And if people nowadays think that maintaining a long distance relationship is hard with the technology that we have, they have to think again.
Back then, before internet and cellular phones were accessible to the public, people wrote letters. Handwritten or using a typewriter, it was more personal in a way. They would then send these letters through the post office, and patiently wait SEVEN days before the letter arrived to their receiver. Then they would have to wait ANOTHER seven days, to receive the reply. Harsh right? All in all you have to wait 2 weeks to receive a reply. That is IF the person actually replies. Imagine yourself waiting for the mailman to drop off letters at your house. Waiting for a letter that may or may not arrive. Imagine writing a letter to someone, telling them to meet you at this certain place at a certain time, and you just wait there, hoping they got the message?
It was hard, but my parents endured that. Since after college my dad worked overseas, there were more complications. I read in some letters that it took LONGER than seven days for the letter to arrive. Sometimes these letters would get switched up. And worse, sometimes the letters were lost in the mail somewhere. They went through this until I was almost six years old, when we finally got a personal computer at home where we could email dad easily. So it took thirteen years before my mom and dad could communicate properly, and yet their love stood strong through the currents of life.
Nowadays we rarely hear these types of stories. With the magic of the internet, you could easily video chat them and feel like you’re with each other.You could easily update yourself on what your significant other is doing by checking out their Facebook or Twitter or Instagram. You can text them without waiting two whole weeks for a reply unless they have a good reason for doing so. But although the communication part of long distance relationships are significantly better than before, the feeling of being in an LDR is more or less still the same.
There is that feeling of facing things by yourself.  You know you can’t always depend on him/her to hold your hand when you’re about to receive important news. They’re not there to really help you when you’re in trouble because all they’ll know is how you solved the problem. You don’t have a shoulder to lean on or a hand to hold on to. There is just you and a person miles away.
Missing them. There are just moments when it hits you. When there’s no one to carry your heavy bag, no one to kiss you when it starts to rain, when you go home to an empty house. It’s like you’re always daydreaming that they’re there with you. You sometimes loose focus on the things that you’re doing. You forget things, you’re easily distracted and in rare cases, your body feels unloved. Although the person is there for you 24/7, there is still that feeling that they should have been here, that they should be with you right now. It’s the hardest part of it. Knowing that they should be there with you, but they’re not.

You grow apart. As cliche as it may sound, change is really inevitable. You can’t control your surroundings, and neither can you control the surrounding of the person you love. Your interests, likes and dislikes eventually change. So does your partner. There is the risk that whenever you meet in person, you have a hard time adjusting to who they have become. Whether change for the better or for the worst, it depends upon you and your partner. No matter how many times a day you see your partner through video chat or talking to them on the phone, things change in between the times you’re talking to each other and the times that you’re not.
Keeping things interesting. There are some couples who lasted five years without seeing each other in person. There are some couples who have seen each other almost everyday of their life, yet are torn by distance all of the sudden. So how do you keep your romance at check? This is a challenge. You have to think of things to help your relationship exciting. This is where you send surprise gifts, send them e-cards or videos of yourself for them. You just have to keep the ball rolling.

Temptations. Now these are the deal breakers of long distance relationships. When you’re apart from your partner, you feel emotionally incomplete. And when a person comes along who somehow fills that emotional need, you tend to fall for them. The best way to avoid temptations as such is to remember that everything you are doing is for the future of both of you. That everyone around you who may tempt you are only temporary, just a by passer. Remember you’re committed to someone, not everyone.
Waiting. They always say that you should look at the glass half full. That means you must try your best not to think how many days it has been til you’ve last seen them. Rather, think about how near you are to the day that you would melt in their arms. Cheesy, I know, but that’s how we keep ourselves alive. We have to encourage ourselves to think of the crazy things we want to do with them when you finally meet after all this time. Knowing fully that all of your plans will fade when you see them because all you want to do is be with them no matter where the both of you are or what you’re doing.

The anxiousness of meeting. No matter how many times you’ve seen each other before, there is still that excited feeling of holding their hand again, feeling their arms around you, and even when you kiss. There is the question of chemistry, that no matter how often your communication is, it will be further tested when you meet them in person. 
The knowledge that after hello, there would be goodbye. Even when you’re together, there is that nagging feeling that you won’t see each other again for another few weeks or months. Your mind seems to teleport to the future when you’re not together and this leaves you in pieces. The hardest part really is goodbye, when there is the uncertainty of when you’d meet again. This makes the person usually scared of being with his/her partner rather than enjoying the moments spent together.
But in the end, I believe that the people who survive long distance relationships are the strongest people out there. They strive their best not to get tempted, not to fall out of love. They trust with all their heart, even when everything seems doubtful. Their love reaches out through the land and sea that keeps them apart. They conquer every obstacle, and they do their best to succeed for the sake of the other. They spend their days counting to the moment where they’d meet their beloved one. And when they gloriously meet and they have the opportunity to stay, that’s the best part. This is when we know that love really knows no distance. 🙂

Land of mirrors

As reality shrinks into a dark abyss, I find myself in an empty void. I forget everything; my name, my age, the things around me. It is as if I was born again, into a world that I can create with my mind. And in my mind, I am a baby; an innocent bag of flesh, just waiting to conquer the world with the secret insanity that I held myself with. I am pampered, and I have my family hanging at my every babble and talk. As I stagger and begin to walk, my parents held my hand. Soon enough, I began to walk on my own, eat on my own, and I begin to not depend on my family on every little thing. I fell asleep on my own bed, thinking of how cool it would be when I grow up, unbound to the chains of my parents.

As I open my eyes, I see little children running around, without a care of the world. I join them, and I become part of their world. For a moment, I do not care about everything else. I only have these children, carefree and untouched by the sore reality of the flesh world. I stay with them for a while, and I laugh so loud that some people would call me indiscreet. Then in a blink of an eye, the little kids were gone. I find myself alone again, walking along the depths, not knowing where to go. What I do know is that I have to follow my bare feet, which were having cuts and bruises because of the small rocks I stumbled upon. The strength of my sole was tested, and though I winced and cried a time or two, I kept going, excited to learn what else is in the depths of my mind.

Then I found myself in a room full of mirrors; mirrors of different shapes, of different lengths. In each mirror, I looked different. In some mirrors I was tall, in some mirrors, I was small. In some I was a blur and some I looked as naked as a new born baby. I felt stripped, I felt judged, and I ran away as fast as I could. But I could never run from them and the more farther I ran more mirrors appeared in front of me. Then I stopped and looked at myself. As I studied my body, I saw that it was developing. My mind too, was more open, more developed in a way.

I was then put in a box, a box filled with facts and numbers and the proper grammar. I was taught this way and that, and my mind grew bigger and stronger. I had developed reasoning and judgement, and when I did I saw mirrors of other people, and I began to see them from a different view. I criticized most of them, some I envied. I wanted to be a part of their world, a part of their group. I tried my best to fit in the mirrors; I even changed my structure and the way I was. I found myself squeezing in, desperately trying to be the same with the plane of their life. But no matter how I tried, I was different. After a while, I got tired. I haven’t seen my reflection every since I was fascinated by trying to be one of the people. And so I searched and searched through the mirrors, but I could not find the reflection of me. I began to wonder what I looked like, if I looked like the people I criticized. I became mad, insane, driven into finding the mirror that held my face. I began to break every glass, and I stopped looking at other people. I got bruised and hurt, and I got scars everywhere. I was laughed at and judged, but I broke all the mirrors, knowing I had nothing to lose.  And then, at the end of everything, I saw a lone mirror, standing proud and unmoved. I stopped, as my sanity returned. My heart began pounding like a maniac on drugs, and I saw my reflection in the mirror. And I hated what I saw. I was disgusted as I saw a young woman, who looked at everywhere but herself. I realized that the more I envied other people, the more I wanted to be a part of their world I didn’t have time to create my world.

And so I started over. I picked up myself, and got my head on straight. I took a part of my mirror, so I won’t forget how I looked like.  As new mirrors replaced old ones, I began not to care about them. I put my head up, and began to walk on my own. I heard whispers and taunts and names that ridiculed me, I tried my best not to care. I became stronger and mightier, able to stand on my own two feet. I learned that the things I learned in the “box” could never be enough to be able to be on my own in the land of mirrors. And at one point, I saw my own reflection again. It was on another mirror, and as I checked the small piece from my own mirror, I saw it was an almost perfect match as how I saw myself. It was a brighter mirror, with more colours and it sparkled. I smiled and I twirled at my reflection, and I felt comfortable. Low and behold, the mirror became a man. He smiled at me, and made me laugh.  And he walked with me through life. And as I began to regain my consciousness, I saw a mirror in his eyes. It was the same reflection before he turned into a man, a reflection of who I was in his eyes. As reality pinched me back into its cruelty, I held in my heart the memory of the land of the mirrors.