By Minkail Olaitan.

What a mirror, a glassy thing that's capable of duplicating any creature that stands before it means to me is quite a different thing.. Succinctly, like some can not afford to step out of their house without primping before this glassy god to ascertain their adornment. They would run their fingers, chasing after the defects on their faces and the numbers of pimples noted are equivalent to the level of their troubling despair.

At some end, some would stand wearily before it and cry profusely, looking at their tearful and swelling countenances, feeling the agony of the men in front of them. The horrible scenario would have ridden on them at such a moment. To them is comfort them.

I don't have a foot in any of these shoes, in fact, I barely stand before a mirror to inspect my cuteness and no sadness has dragged my feet to it. Though It's true that I bear a sullied heart..., yet I have got no reason to find my bastion of comfort before a glassy object.

Whilst this doesn't mean I don't stand before a mirror or have nothing to do with it. Not quite many time I have found myself in front of a mirror; I have tried it many times to primp and savour my beauty before it, but only an ugly face boy with bushy hair was always what I normally saw.

Likewise, when I am hooked in the fangs of sorrow, I have run to see myself in this mirror, it's always disheartening that a boy who always appeared to me was making jest of me. He would stare disgustingly back at me and laugh hysterically. This glassy god must have conspired against me!

At times, I would voluntarily drag myself, as a culprit pushed roughly to Golgotha where his life would be stolen away from him. And stood angrily before it, the loads of air which escaped from the window panes to pat my back is the only fan of this truth.

The boy in the mirror would scuff, squint his eyes and wrinkles will dabble across his brow. He's like that every time, wearing my face but a burning countenance smouldering over his own. Sometimes, he would yell at me, and his voice will cut through my veins like a dagger.

That moment, a myriad of memories would take the rule of my head, reminding me of several stories of how I had played on girls heart, just for my pleasure, while I knew very well that I am not a boy with heart, but a mind. I had successfully plunged their heart on love, and they could not shrug it off again.

They could not even realise the lots of deft moves hidden in the love being shown unto them. They are lost in the haze of this charm called 'love'.

Before one memory faded away, another would come up like a program already put on a reminder on Dstv. The figure in the mirror would scuff again, sometimes simultaneously. My sense will run over my childhood days when I was the rat that used to steal meats and fishes that gently slept inside a pot of stew.

Like a trance, I would be transferred back to days in schools when hitting others was a normal way of life. I would hurt them, while before they raised their hands to retaliate, I would have melted their anger with a mouthful of 'sorry'. Such a vagabond lives therein my body.

Thereafter, it would bring to my heart how smart I was those days when I used to pilfer grandpa's pockets. And other horrible things that yet unfolded to me. Maybe sooner I will have myself stand before this glassy god again to review my way of living and to see if anger brewing in the figure has melted away as a butter opened to a blazing sun.

This moment which looked like forever would go and drop a phrase on the soil of my mind, which I continuously whispered like a heart prayer, "could this be how judgement would be passed in heaven", no! I would snap back "it better not"

Therefore, it has been a grace, undeserving love from the highest God that I am still alive to this moment. And it's clear to me that, if we are to die by expenses of our sins, nobody would be the only inhabitants of the earth. Again, God is lovely and merciful.

Happy Birthday to Me.

Edited by: Chief Mrs Oluwakemi Alao-Akala.