Days go by and I do not look in the mirror. Occasionally, I'll steal a glimpse of myself in the rear view mirror or when I pass a shop window or in the kettle as I make tea. I catch images of me in my thirties. I have begun to observe how my face is changing. The lines have finally emerged to illuminate all of the hidden, withheld, carelessly and freely expressed feelings that I have and continue to channel through my facial muscles. A close friend once told me that what I'm feeling is always so obviously written all over my face. This surprised me initially, but I have tiny witnesses day in and day out who corroborate this opinion. They take note of the subtle crinkling of my eyes or an askance turn down of my lip, telegraphing subtle shifts in my mood. As I age, I allow the gauzy mask to slip. What does it reveal? How will my kids remember me? How will I remember myself?
Since 2020, I have written the following: -grandiose grocery lists (written on an empty stomach) that often end up getlting left behind at home -funding proposals -delicately worded emails -harried Whatsapp messages -a slew of facebook messages (that basically kept me alive) -a tinder profile or two... -utilitarian text messages -heart felt text messages -the very occasional love note (on paper) to a friend or a loved one The things I have not written since 2020: -a journal -a multi-page handwritten letter -a play -a sketch -a novel -more than 2-3 blog posts that I didn't even publish -a pros and cons list
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