Wednesday, May 13, 2015

Who is in Your Mirror?

I believe in pink. I believe that laughing is the best calorie burner. I believe in kissing, kissing a lot. I believe in being strong when everything seems to be going wrong. I believe that happy girls are the prettiest girls. I believe that tomorrow is another day and I believe in miracles.
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I showed the music video Man in the Mirror to my college class that I teach.  I didn't have to explain it to them, they got it.  But I think I need to explain it to myself.

Who is the person in the mirror?  I was talking with a coworker of mine about having a variety of things that you identify with, so that if one fails you, you have something to fall back on.  

For example, if you identify as a mother first, if something happens to your child, you would fall back on the fact that you are also a nurse and woman, and Hispanic.  Or something.

That woman in the mirror has many identities.  And good for her, she is complex.  Sophisticated.  How many identities do you have? When you don't let one thing define you, you become a multidimensional being.  

But was is being?  I wonder sometimes what it means to be. You don't have to look in the mirror to be, because really it has nothing to do with the way you look.  Looking and being, are two different things.  

What do you want to be?  I want to be pretty and funny and smart. I want to be happy and successful and rich. But sometimes I just want to be me. 

What does that even mean, being me? I don't know, sometimes I just want to be nina and not worry about all my identities and images and desires and everything else. Sometimes I think what makes up me is a conglomeration of a lot of weird shit. But I'm not only weird. I'm also simple.

Maybe. Can't you be simple and complex at the same time. I like rain. Maybe there is nothing more to me than enjoying water. Water is really simple. However, it could be kind of complicated as well, I don't know that much about science. 

So maybe there are men in the mirror. Maybe Michael Jackson didn't know which man he was.  I sure don't know what kind of man he was.  Was he just a great musician? Was he an awful molester? I don't know him anymore than he may have known himself. 

There are a lot of women's faces in my mirror. The one I choose to see, the one I choose to be, morphs from time to time. Yet I know, it her I need to find. Or be. 

I hope she's beautiful.


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