As we waited for our order in the pizza shop, a mother with her child walked in.
The child was inquisitive, and wanted his mother to buy him a colourful ball from a vending machine.
I shifted my attention to the little boy, and could not help but look at him beyond his human enclosure as to know more information about him.
The child’s tender behaviour charmed and amused the whole establishment – all eyes were on him.
In a way, his whole spectacle, reflected something as though it gave me an answer.
I forthwith tried to remember something.
I knew, yet I was not conscious yet.
I thought of that boy from childhood named José Carlos.
Before I could explore any further, the mother called her son by his name, Carlos.
I became conscious of that which I searched. Hearing his name was like obtaining relief after craving for something to fall on my head.
Thereafter, I pulled my consciousness away from him and addressed my companions.
My reflection, at times, arches her lips as if to smile. This action only lasts a few seconds, yet it is a delight and a fright to behold it.
I have seen my reflection morph into that of a corpse-like figure. No bones showed. It was rather skin – canescent, dry, and old.
The other day, I saw my visage blend into that of a man. This male was pale and in what seemed to be his middle age. First, it was the white beard, but today, his eyebrows appeared. He does not feel as though a stranger to me, but I have always held the belief that I have been a woman in my incarnations.
When today’s session began, I worded the summoning of my true face. With still my same countenance, my eyes took the appearance of two pits of black. I blinked and trailed off a bit before continuing. Some features similar still to my current visage appeared – pieces of a man whom, to my mind, bears the resemblance of my father in his youth; but unlike him, this image sports a dark beard that encircles his face by the chin and under his lower lip. This man was bedighted in a rich blue tunic as though some elegant Middle Eastern tailoring.
Lastly, I was forced to change position. I had lost track of time, and my limbs had fallen asleep. With this change, a woman came to me. Her alabaster skin glowed in the shade erected by the backyard gazebo. Her eyes were undistinguishable, and her hair flowed as long raven waterfalls.