My life in Roman numerals
i) They say that I don’t smile. Almost every person I know looks at my empty face and asks why I’m looking at them like I want to kill them.
I took a look at my face in the mirror the other day, nay – I stared deeply into my eyes and saw that indeed, I wasn’t smiling. My lips were pursed, my mouth was closed. I conveyed neither disapproval nor distaste; I was completely neutral of emotion. Maybe then, you can see me through my eyes. What is it that they say about eyes? That they’re the windows into the soul? Maybe it’s my voice. It’s expressive but meanwhile horribly deceiving.
The truth is that sometimes I wear my emotions on my coat like badges or flashes of color for all to see, but I can also suppress them, like a lid on a pot of boiling water. So perhaps I’ve been too suppressive of my emotions lately? Is that why people keep saying that to me? Continue reading
A monologue about eyes
I won’t bother speaking about the color of her eyes, as they are irrelevant. I won’t bore you with the typical blue oceans or pools of chocolate brown, as she can’t control her eye color. I won’t bother telling you how her eyelashes are unnaturally long, or how they bat and flutter little Eskimo kisses. No, I won’t enlighten you with any of that.
Her eyes widen when you speak to her. She can look you at you straight, without breaking eye contact for over eleven seconds, as most lawyers do with their jury to establish a personal connection. Some people let their guard down in the first few moments, but quickly resume passiveness as they fight the insecurities and vulnerabilities inherent in human nature.
When she’s struggling to find the perfect word, she’ll look up and slightly to the right, sifting through her brain. When she’s skeptical, she’ll grimace with the right cheek, and there will be a crease in the eyelid as it scrunches up with incredulity.
She doesn’t like to look down when she talks with people, and she despises looking away from them as they walk towards her in the street. She hates the way people turn their faces into masks, devoid of emotion. She hates how some are utterly unable to maintain eye contact, as if the glare were so intense it burned their retinas.
She is the literal embodiment of the sun, and it’s pretty clear once you look into her endless eyes.