One year on, she stares at the mirror of her dressing table, taking in the reflection staring back at her. Getting lost in the depths of her brown eyes, she knows she's grown up a great deal. She knows that somehow she's not the same person she used to be. Was it for the better? Or for worse? She couldn't tell. The lines that defined her face, they've increased too. Pimples that have made her once smooth skin their temporary residence. The bags under her eyes that never quite go away, no matter how many hours she clocks sleeping. The mess of black curls that on most days seems to have a mind of their own. Her nose, never quite satisfactory in shape, but she'd learn to live with it. Her dimpled chin protruding from her sharp jaw-line. She'd always liked that feature. She likes the fact that every time her fingers stray to her chin, she would be able run her forefinger down the middle.
The sunlight catches her eyes and she squints momentarily, still staring at the mirror. Her eye color was beautiful, different. Just like the rest of her family, it was subtly distinct. Her eyes travel down the length of her arms that were resting on the dresser. Skinny. She almost looked malnourished. Her lips curl upward in slight amusement. Waist-down was a whole different scenario, she though ironically.
She notices her smile. A feeble attempt but a smile nonetheless. Pathetic. Broken. It reflected what she was feeling on the inside. For months now she had been dogged by this unexplainable emptiness, like she'll never know the feeling of happiness again. It was a sad thought, to not be able to embrace something you once knew so well, even if it was for a short period of time. Life was beating her with remarkable forcefulness and she knew she was wounded and bleeding. The life force flowing through her veins wasn't as pure and raw as it was before. Not long ago it felt like a dam had broken inside of her, full of joy and hope. Now, it felt like a trickling stream making its way through a forest, barely there, just holding on. Life had brought her to her knees. It was a shame, to feel like this, to admit defeat. She was still so young. A whole world to be explored and new things to be discovered. Was there a possibilty that that could be jeopardised? She honestly didn't know the answer to that question. She was a brilliant girl, it would be heartbreaking to live a life without accomplishing anything significant.
At times like these she realizes that there were not many people she could depend on. The people who have the gall to call themselves her friends were not really friends if they couldn't be there for her when she needed them the most. Then there were those who blatantly laugh in her face when she tries to tell them about her fears. She knows, they can't relate to what she feels, but all she wants was to be heard. That was all she was asking for. Sometimes they pretend to be deaf, just to block her out. They think she's faking it, that she'll be fine. She feels scared and her fears are very real to her. It was like drowning in ice cold water. Her whole body feels numb but she's still trying to keep her head up from going under, feeling the oxygen being physically squeezed from her lungs, thrashing frantically while others take seats by the water's edge to see how long until she succumbs.
She was a good actress, or she would like to believe so. She didn't know if other people could tell that her back was breaking from the heavy heart she was carrying around in her chest. Looking back, she thinks she's got it down to a science: laughing at jokes, poking fun at others, paying attention when required, saying what needs to be heard. But happiness was fleeting and illusive. In the palms of her hands in one moment, gone like vapor in the next. Recognizing that as a fact inherent in her life, it was depressing. She needed an anchor of comfort and finding that said anchor wasn't going to be a walk in the park.
She wishes for many things. Many, many things. She feels little, insignificant and fragile; shreddable by a gust of wind. She's tried, time and again to find an ounce of edible comfort by telling herself that this feeling won't be a permanent feature in her life, that there will be days that she would be dancing in the rain with a genuine smile on her face, laughing out loud, not bothering herself with the troubles of the world. When will those days that she spends hours dreaming about finally materialize?
Only two things were definitive to her. When she grows up, she wants to be happy and she doesn't want to be alone. A fairly simple ideology. Execution would prove to be tricky and she could already feel it in her bones. But she would die trying, she promised herself. If everyone else could have happy endings, why not she? What was it that didn't qualify her to have the same outcome? The principle of equality would not deprive her of her rights.
Re-establishing her focus on the mirror in front of her, she looks herself up and down. Not beautiful, not attractive, not anything. Nothing significant. She leans forward to get a closer look at her self. She remains in that position for a few moments longer, until she accepts that there's nothing she could really do about it.
Last year, at this moment in time, things were different. Probably not better, just different. Pulling away from the reflective glass, she thinks to herself, "Will this matter a year from today?"
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