There are days when I would always find myself checking for changes as to how I look. You see I’m not getting any younger, and when you’re in your thirties, the fresh vibe of you ten years ago start, or in some cases, have already started, to diminish. Change, ahh. Soon, time will come when I would need to start dyeing my hair. Or worse, maintain a haircut so short no one notices I’m already without it.
Then again, when I think about it:
My eyes. Black. Pitch-black. Dark as the night. But apparent. Undimmed. Luminous. Pleasant.
My brows. Bushy. Like my Isabelle’s. Inspecting. Agog. Curious.
My nose. Flat, like most my countrymen. Frequently hypersensitive. Everything irresistant. Struggling, but functional.
My lips. Full. Sometimes vocal. Always expressive. Hymns praises.
My hair. Wavy. Rippled as the sea, but calm. Black with few silver linings. Maturity. Wisdom.
Flabs here and there. Not muscular but strapping. Not-so-good posture but confident. Sanguine.
I figured not much has changed, and really, not much ever will. So mirrors, not really a necessity. Courage, faith and love outlive vanity.This same man will live his future days as if they’re his last. This same boy will enjoy that happiness he gets from piano ballads and RnB soul. This same husband will love his wife to his core, and will adore his daughter to the ends of the earth. And this same believer will trust his God no matter what the odds are.