“All parents damage their children. It cannot be helped. Youth, like pristine glass, absorbs the prints of its handlers. Some parents smudge, others crack, a few shatter childhoods completely into jagged little pieces, beyond repair.”
― Mitch Albom, The Five People You Meet in Heaven
I look in the mirror and I do not see myself. I see my aunt. My father’s older sister. Cool style and strong determination. Beautiful curly black hair and impeccable make up. Swift, intelligent, strong. And I wonder.
I look in the mirror and I do not see myself. I see my aunt. My father’s younger sister. Loving, caring, always giving everything she had. Gentle features and soft curled hair. Always giving without reward. And I wonder.
I look in the mirror and I do not see myself. I see my grandmother. A rock. Always there to criticize with very strong opinions on everything. Stubborn is an understatement. Her feelings buried under the glasses and that deep fold separating her lips from her left cheek. A frightening resoluteness emanating from her body. And I wonder.
Aromatic deception 