Choosing My Own Mirror

The me I choose to see is authentically, remarkably me.

This will make sense in a minute. Image by author.

I step out of the shower and grab the towel hanging right next to me. My reflex is to cover my body immediately, so he doesn’t see it so clearly in this bright LED light.

I start applying moisturizer on my legs while he grabs his toothbrush and applies paste on it. He stops.

“What does this mean?” I look up from my lotion-covered legs and see him pointing at the pink little post-it pasted on the wall, just above the sink.

“I’ve wondered about this for while,” he explains.

The smile arises naturally from within, and I allow my grab on the towel to loosen a little.

Where should I begin?

Other People’s Mirrors

When I’m a kid, I love the mirror, and I tell my mother I’m going to be a model or a princess when I grow up. It still takes a couple years for me to develop an interest in the written word, and even more for feminism to make its way into my life.

I firmly believe I am the prettiest girl in the world. Both my parents are photographers, so it’s easy to believe life will be all about people taking pictures of my beautiful face.