Ever since I was a little girl, I have hated reflections. Anything that reflected light and anything I could look into and see its twisted version of me made my skin crawl and my head hurt. Anything from mirrors to windows, even looking into a pond would bring upon the same level of misery and hatred for reflections as I’ve always had. I hate them because all they do is lie. Reflections are supposed to show you what you look like, supposed to reflect your exact self but somewhere along the way, the mirrors and windows grew bitter and angry at the vain heart of humanity and decided to punish everyone for it. Even those who don’t deserve it. Now all they do is lie. You look into a mirror, and you never see yourself. All you see is a twisted version that the mirror wants you to see. A mirror can make the most beautiful of creatures look horrible in their own eyes. While every other person sees them for the beauty they are, they can only see themselves in whatever version the mirror decides to show them.
I have a friend. Not just any friend actually, my best friend. My sister from another mister, my soul sister, my platonic soulmate, my safe space. My best friend. She’s the most beautiful girl to me. Anybody can see it, too. Anybody will agree with me, too. Her long pitch-black curly hair, her deep and soulful brown eyes, her cute little button nose, her beautiful tan skin, her pouty cherry lips and her full rosy cheeks. She’s ethereal. She’s gorgeous inside and out and has the most beautiful soul I have ever met but the lies of a reflection have told her a different story all her life. Since she was a little girl, the mirrors have been lying to her head. Since she was a little girl, the mirrors showed her a version of herself that didn’t exist. The mirrors told her fictitious tales of what she looked like, told her she was too fat, too skinny, ugly, told her that her lips were too big, said her eyes were too big, her cheeks were too fat, and the mirrors never told the full story. They only zoomed in and focused on those things she had already hated and built on that hatred. I try to tell her, I yell it in her face every day that she’s gorgeous, that she’s beautiful, that she’s unique but a few nice words from me won’t drown out the millions of lies the mirrors have whispered in her ear.
Maybe mirrors were designed to twist and manipulate the minds of people. For example, how could the Evil Queen ever be seen as the fairest lady of the whole land? When she had such an ugly soul? Why did it take someone else that the mirror thought worthy to come into the land for the mirror to stop whispering its lies into the Evil Queen’s ear? Maybe it’s a game that it likes to play. Let those with the most hideous of souls prosper and think themselves above others and let the most gorgeous of souls suffer and cry because the mirrors on the walls consider her not good enough. Why do the reflections all around us make us feel like we are lower than we are? Why do these reflections get to decide? Why do these reflections get to play the game and we remain helpless puppets for their amusement? Why do they decide who’s good enough?
How can she think she’s not good enough? I wish I could lend her my eyes for one day. Lend her my eyes and the eyes of the millions of people who would look at her and know she’s the beautiful creation of Aphrodite herself and let her see what we see. There was one time when we were sitting in front of the mirror, getting ready for a party that evening. I remember how she sat still for so long, not touching her makeup or her hair and just staring at herself in the mirror. I thought she was finally seeing what I saw. I thought she was finally recognizing the beauty that shines from her skin but no. I should’ve seen the resentment in her eyes, I should have smelt the self-hatred from a mile away. Because when I thought she was going to tell me she finally saw it, she asked me the opposite.
“Do you think if I wear more makeup, I’d look less ugly?”
It was at that moment I realized. I took in her perplexed frown, took in the genuine concern and worry that was etched into her features and I’d understood. She had never truly seen herself before. All the knowledge she had of her beauty had been crafted in that ever-wandering, beautiful mind of hers and the only version of herself she’s seen is the lies the reflections have shown her. A version of herself that doesn’t exist. I hope one day she’ll be able to see herself through different eyes. Eyes that don’t have to rely on the reflections on those surfaces to see how beautiful she is. I wish for a time to come when she can finally see herself. Truly see herself, and not the lies of a reflection.