Standing in front of the fogged-up mirror, I look at my reflection.  Slowly,  bits of me emerge. Part of my eyes, a fraction of my nose and a crescent of my lips.  Clarity is just minutes way.  I stand there, albeit, a little nervous, a little reluctant.  What do I really look like now… sans glossy lipstick, sans skin-perfecting tinted liquid powder and sans cherry blossom blush.

My forehead is slowly coming into view and so are the fine creases.  These creases will just sink deeper and become more prominent with time. I try to smile that thought away.  Laugh lines are etched into the corners of my eyes.  I can see them clearly now though their charm is little lost on me at the moment.  Everything is coming into clear focus.  Pale and slightly dry lips.  Uneven, patchy skin.  Dark circles under my eyes.  Freckles peppered and multiplied across my nose and around my cheeks.

I inch closer to the mirror.   Everything looks the same, yet different.  I look like a weathered version of my younger self.  Worn and lackluster.  But, as I look even closer, I see my Grandma looking back at me.  My eyes are still bright and spirited, just like hers were.  And my nose, still my favorite, is my Dad’s best feature.  The shape of my face and my expressions, they are also my Mom’s.

Slowly, I take in these little pieces of me, one at a time.  These eyes, this nose, these lips, this skin, this face, just as they are with many imperfections.  Not what they used to be. Not what I want them to be. Not what I think they should be.  But just as they are.  They are my grandma’s and my parents’.  But, they are also mine.  They are me and I am them.

Now, as for that little smile I see in the mirror, yes, that’s mine too!

*Featured image by Matthew Henry on Unsplash