Mirror Addict (Salamin-kera)

My family is a bunch of mirror addicts.

We have a house mirror. It’s actually the second house mirror we had, the first one being there since my mother’s time until it shattered a few years ago. The present mirror is placed in a strategic location, on a wall at the top of the stairs leading into and out of our space, where everything except the bathroom and the spare room intersects.

Looking into the mirror has been a habit. When we go to the kitchen from the main room (bedroom/reception), we tend to take a quick mirror check. When we go to the main room from the kitchen, another mirror check. No matter how distant from the mirror, we look at the scene reflected in it. The mirror was placed so that we could check how we looked as we left the house, if we had toothpaste stains on the corners of our mouth, hair out of place (or place out of hair), previously undiscovered wardrobe damage, etc. etc. etc. then we’d be able to spot and repair.

I’d like to think that I feel secure when I see myself in the mirror. It’s a habit I’d taken outside my home; looking at my reflection wherever it was visible. It made me feel real, solid, but also somewhat fake and pretentious. I feel as though I was rehearsing an act for the world, though I’d like to believe what I see is what I really am. When I check myself in the mirror, I check if my act is effective; when I walk past it, I imagine it to be the curious, admiring stare of my audience.

When someone takes the mirror from its usual place, the others find themselves painfully itching for a glimpse of what is familiar. I feel that itch. I like to watch myself change, watch as my face become darker and oilier since the last mirror check, watch the effect of a new hairstyle on my face, watch the different emotions reflected there, memorize all my blemishes and swear them away. With the mirror absent, I feel as though I’ve missed a crucial part of my life, and I feel, albeit for a very brief moment, incomplete.

And when it is put back, I am greatly relieved.

The Wooden Bowl

Isa 'to sa mga paborito naming kwento ng kapatid kong si Poopooying. Reading to sa St. John's Academy elem, sa My Readers ata. Di ko na maalala.

Ang kwentong ito ay tungkol sa paggalang sa nakakatanda.

May tatay, nanay, anak at lolo. Napakatanda na ni lolo at mahina na ang katawan kaya lagi siyang nakakabasag ng pinggan. Naiinis ang nanay at tatay at lagi nilang pinapagalitan si lolo. Isang araw napag-isipan nilang bigyan ng kahoy na mangkok ang lolo. Nang makita ito ng anak tinanong niya ang tatay kung bakit kahoy ang kinakainan ng lolo. Sabi ng tatay, para di na siya makabasag. Kinagabihan, nakita nila ang anak na may inuukit na kahoy. Tinanong nila kung para saan yon. Ang sabi ng anak, gumagawa na siya ng kahoy na mangkok para sa nanay at tatay sa kanilang pagtanda. Napagtanto ng nanay at tatay ang kanilang pagkakamali. Kinabukasan, binawi na nila ang kahoy na mangkok ni lolo.

Wais nung bata no?