I wake up every morning seeing my mother in front of
the mirror putting on make-up as she gets ready for work. She puts on her blush
on, dabs her lips with a stick, pencils her eyebrows. Sometimes, I fix myself
with her. We both stand in front of the camera, prettying ourselves, getting
ready for the long day ahead.
One fine Saturday morning, I woke up late. My mother was downstairs, watching the television. My father was out of the house and my mother and I were the only people in the house since I had no siblings. It was a quiet day.
I stood up and went straight to the mirror, following the sudden flash of idea in my head. I took a sort of green stick with blades in it. I have seen my mother do this in front of the mirror sometimes and I did as she did: I put the blades near my brows, scraping them off, trying to leave a thin line. I was so happy with my expertise in such equipment that I headed downstairs smiling from ear to ear.
“Ma, bagay ba?” I asked my mother proudly. The look on her face confused me. She seemed… mad.
“Anong ginawa mo! Bakit mo inahit ang kilay mo!” She shouted. Did it not look beautiful?
Instead of a better version of an eight-year old Patricia, I saw a round face with a large forehead with no eyebrows. I started crying. How am I going to show myself in school? What have I done?
I just stared at my reflection, crying, wanting to turn back time, wishing to turn to the regular old Patricia.
One fine Saturday morning, I woke up late. My mother was downstairs, watching the television. My father was out of the house and my mother and I were the only people in the house since I had no siblings. It was a quiet day.
I stood up and went straight to the mirror, following the sudden flash of idea in my head. I took a sort of green stick with blades in it. I have seen my mother do this in front of the mirror sometimes and I did as she did: I put the blades near my brows, scraping them off, trying to leave a thin line. I was so happy with my expertise in such equipment that I headed downstairs smiling from ear to ear.
“Ma, bagay ba?” I asked my mother proudly. The look on her face confused me. She seemed… mad.
“Anong ginawa mo! Bakit mo inahit ang kilay mo!” She shouted. Did it not look beautiful?
Instead of a better version of an eight-year old Patricia, I saw a round face with a large forehead with no eyebrows. I started crying. How am I going to show myself in school? What have I done?
I just stared at my reflection, crying, wanting to turn back time, wishing to turn to the regular old Patricia.
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