Reflections (Gag)
He looks in the mirror and sees a familiar face. But it's not a face that is familiar to most people who know him. Most people who know him see a different face than what he sees in the mirror. They see the mirror image of that face. And not merely in two dimensions, as the image in the mirror.
Furthermore, given the fact (it is a fact) that no one has a perfectly symmetrical face, everyone who is familiar with his face does not see the same face that he sees in the mirror. They see the mirror image of that face. Were anyone to see the face he sees in the mirror, they would probably acknowledge at some point: "Something isn't quite right. Is that really him? Or is it a twin brother?"
Pondering this visage he sees in the metal amalgam-coated glass, he recognizes the fact that he has never actually seen himself. Ever. Sure, he has seen photographs of himself. But these are merely two-dimensional static images created by the chemical reaction of light upon a light-sensitive emulsion; not actually seeing himself the way others might see him, but as the camera has managed to capture reflected light. He has also seen video recordings of himself, but again, what he sees is only an illusion set in two dimensions, giving the appearance of motion and three dimensions. So even video is, at best, only an approximation and clever illusion of what others actually see.
One way to get an idea, nonetheless flawed, of what others see is to use a second mirror, and to see the reflection of his own reflection. But even then, his behavior and expressions are executed with a nearly obsessive self-conscious manner, evidenced by the fact that he dislikes having a conversation in a mirror, in the public restroom, watching himself talk to someone else, seeing his facial expressions as he talks, the way his mouth moves as the words are formed and are uttered. "Is that really me? Is that what I look like when I talk?" Well actually, no. But it's still enough to make him say: "WhoTF is that talking in the mirror?"
The reality is that no one has ever actually seen himself as other truly see him. If he ever did, he probably would dislike himself even more than he does already. And while a bit of self-loathing can be healthy, too much can be destructive. And self-delusion serves a good purpose in that one's true self is hidden, or at least obscured, by one's inability to ever truly see oneself as others see him.
Occasionally, he catches a sidelong glimpse of himself reflected in window or the glass of his car door as he slams it shut. He sees a man older than he is accustomed to seeing; a man who resembles his aged father. The oblique and cursory glance of that countenance evokes pangs, almost audible, realizing the slipperiness of time and his ephemeral earth-bound existence. It is a jab in the ribs that, on the one hand, makes him retch with self-disgust: "WTF am I doing with this short life?" It is also a stab in gut that, on the other hand, moves him to consider his mortality as an impetus toward making something of the time he has left, while still breathing the cursed air that surrounds this moribund planet.
In summary, he will live out the remainder of his existence, pulled in one direction by self-execration, which will humble him and keep him from taking himself more seriously than he ought, and pulled in the other direction by the desire to achieve, to progress, to beat back the inexorable effects of time, age, gravity and his flagging physiology, leaving behind something worthwhile and of value to others. In other words, he's a old poopy-head.*
*I laughed at this. I typed it because I am tired.
Furthermore, given the fact (it is a fact) that no one has a perfectly symmetrical face, everyone who is familiar with his face does not see the same face that he sees in the mirror. They see the mirror image of that face. Were anyone to see the face he sees in the mirror, they would probably acknowledge at some point: "Something isn't quite right. Is that really him? Or is it a twin brother?"
Pondering this visage he sees in the metal amalgam-coated glass, he recognizes the fact that he has never actually seen himself. Ever. Sure, he has seen photographs of himself. But these are merely two-dimensional static images created by the chemical reaction of light upon a light-sensitive emulsion; not actually seeing himself the way others might see him, but as the camera has managed to capture reflected light. He has also seen video recordings of himself, but again, what he sees is only an illusion set in two dimensions, giving the appearance of motion and three dimensions. So even video is, at best, only an approximation and clever illusion of what others actually see.
One way to get an idea, nonetheless flawed, of what others see is to use a second mirror, and to see the reflection of his own reflection. But even then, his behavior and expressions are executed with a nearly obsessive self-conscious manner, evidenced by the fact that he dislikes having a conversation in a mirror, in the public restroom, watching himself talk to someone else, seeing his facial expressions as he talks, the way his mouth moves as the words are formed and are uttered. "Is that really me? Is that what I look like when I talk?" Well actually, no. But it's still enough to make him say: "WhoTF is that talking in the mirror?"
The reality is that no one has ever actually seen himself as other truly see him. If he ever did, he probably would dislike himself even more than he does already. And while a bit of self-loathing can be healthy, too much can be destructive. And self-delusion serves a good purpose in that one's true self is hidden, or at least obscured, by one's inability to ever truly see oneself as others see him.
Occasionally, he catches a sidelong glimpse of himself reflected in window or the glass of his car door as he slams it shut. He sees a man older than he is accustomed to seeing; a man who resembles his aged father. The oblique and cursory glance of that countenance evokes pangs, almost audible, realizing the slipperiness of time and his ephemeral earth-bound existence. It is a jab in the ribs that, on the one hand, makes him retch with self-disgust: "WTF am I doing with this short life?" It is also a stab in gut that, on the other hand, moves him to consider his mortality as an impetus toward making something of the time he has left, while still breathing the cursed air that surrounds this moribund planet.
In summary, he will live out the remainder of his existence, pulled in one direction by self-execration, which will humble him and keep him from taking himself more seriously than he ought, and pulled in the other direction by the desire to achieve, to progress, to beat back the inexorable effects of time, age, gravity and his flagging physiology, leaving behind something worthwhile and of value to others. In other words, he's a old poopy-head.*
*I laughed at this. I typed it because I am tired.
Labels: age, dying, facial recognition, mirror, poopy-head, progress, reflection, symmetry
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