Saturday. Its one of those days when I don’t have to do anything, especially when I’m home in the province; not busting my gut out trying to exercise to look like Akihiro Sato in the Penshoppe Guadalupe billboard. I can wake up as late as i want, and luxuriate in the cold water of the shower without worrying that I’d be late for work. I’m a shower freak. I linger in the shower, not content at having lathered and rinsed my body in one go; I’d linger some more minutes just to make sure that my face, neck, armpits and singit have been given the proper attention they deserve, scrubbing them with my soft palms; making sure that cleansing, purifying water run its course over my entire body.
I go out of the shower area, feeling refreshed and energized, just like any other saturday before that. Only this time, I manage to catch a reflection of my face in the oval mirror adjacent to the shower door. Its not that I don’t look at my face, ever. Even those who renounce and shun narcissism are bound to look at their faces even for once, in a week's time. And I’m a child of narcissus. Hehehe. Though that might be the case, I am still surprised to see that the face staring back at me no longer exudes that youthful air I fiercely held onto say, a good two or three years. The face is a lot sterner now, and lines around the forehead, however faint they may be, are already showing--if you squint hard enough, they’re there, staring right back.
Coupled with my bulking body, I no longer resembled that strapping youth that the mirror fell head-over-heals with, six years ago; that mirror, which tatay himself installed when our house was newly-built, and was the current toast of our place for its daring bold colors and imposing rock façade.
Time indeed has passed, and as Old Rose in the movie Titanic was bound to say, “reflections changed a bit”.