An adjective from another language

About two pages, just some bumbling thoughts to myself. The paradox between joy and pain, but more importantly, how proud I am to be myself, even if that's understated. Some linguistics. Not edited.

to look at one's reflection in the mirror

mirar el reflejo de uno en el espejo

I think I like the Spanish term ‘mirar’ (to look), because it accurately reflects the meaning of ‘look’ to me. When we look, typically, we’re actually just reflecting our views of ourselves unto the things that surround us. Even as we grow and take in more to reflect upon. But I don’t actually remember why I love the term mirar anymore �" not since I first learned it.

‘Look’ doesn’t seem to reflect anything about looking, to me. However, I’ve never actually looked into it before. I’ve always just assumed it had nothing to do with anything other than that was the word ‘to look’. Conveniently, two ‘o’s reflect two eyes when playing upon the actual written word. It shares similarities to German suchen, at least when it comes to sound. 

Yet, the word for mirror in Spanish is espejo, which shares nothing in common with mirar: ‘to look’ in Spanish. They probably never made the connection an English speaker would, but a native Spanish speaker may think we’re awfully vain to have the word ‘look’ or mirar morphed into an espejo (mirror) and have grabbed a whole new word to cover ‘look’ in general. I mean, you must be vain if the first thing that pops into your mind at the word ‘look’ is mirror… just kidding, but one may. 

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If I could choose an adjective to be named after in Spanish �" (because adjectives are fun) �" it would be mirar because I feel when people look at me, they’re really just seeing reflections of themselves. They see my generous eyes, laughing smile, and homely pose and they feel like they’re spending the whole day with themselves; an impish, and comfortable, happy reflection of them as they’re most proud or eager to enjoy. Sure, I get a whole day with a happy companion, but at the end of the day, when we part, they just think they’ve been with themselves the whole time, on a retreat, personal time. This is what I want them to see. There isn’t much an espejo (mirror) has to do: it doesn’t have to hold an opinion; it isn’t made of complex intersecting lines, crossing over each other and having to examine each other consistently, no intersecting neurons. It’s plain, and silver, and catches light like nobody's business, only to release it with a blaze of melancholy hue left in its place in the next millisecond. Mirrors are silver and blue in people's minds, pearlescent other times, but always silver and blue. Like metal that works hard to be what it is; like pools and oceans that are otherworlds from here. Maybe, a mirror is full of secrets, of who it really is. I don’t know. I like staring at mirrors, staring in them, but never at my reflection �" when I do, it’s the same as two mirrors aligning and it’s overwhelming, infinite, troublesome and somewhat wondering upon hollow. If you don’t stare at what a mirror has in it, like an old painting or picture screen, you realize what mirrors are made of �" what they project. Mirrors are beautiful, and they project a lot of light and a lot of mood and emotion, but rarely opinions. They can tell you when you're really in a dark place, but they don’t. 

My eyes are blue; they sparkle like a mirror. They flicker and reflect whoever I’m seeing.They dance with that person’s, that crowd's expressions, but they don’t with mine. The back and inner sides of mirrors are almost always dark and frightful. They’re messy and you hope the reflective surface never comes off because what comes behind, plain and blank, is always forebodingly dark like secrets too many, too squandered. It isn’t bad, but it’s there, and people don’t like that it’s there. Behind my eyes, I sometimes stew �" ruminate �" on all the things I’m seeing, thoughtlessly. I don’t hold opinions, but sometimes I hold gloom �" not perceptible to the un-keen eye �" sometimes I don’t shine as bright. Other times, I shine so bright, my eyes, they’re glowing. All the light, joy, and worth, I give back easily, no matter how little. But…other times, behind my eyes, I ruminate on how little it is, and I compile the effort it takes, secretly…laying out the dirty laundry to aerate. Some people are modest of dirt and filth, they like to hide it, sweep it, and let it out the door when no ones looking, everytime no ones looking because it has to be clean. That is how I am with ‘dirty laundry’ (aggravation/gloom). My eyes can sparkle, zoomed in like heat-detectors on my company, while my mind is miles elsewhere, gathering out the dust. Not everything I hear pleases me, but it’s not my place to hold opinion, and I won’t. 

Being a mirror has its benefits; I am part of what I project, part of the reflections I’m given and take on. I see things the way other people do, and while I may disagree at a time, I learn their reasonings while I reflect them and begin to understand them appreciatively. People like when talking to a mirror, as long as the mirror doesn’t look like themself �" but it has to have the same eyes, and the same mouth, and the same wrinkles and dimple lines as them. Every essence, every expression �" to match �" but they don’t want to see the age of their features that have grown around their expressions. Don’t want to see what built it, what could make them frown. I become very silver and pearlescent in knowledge from them; I become prismic in perspective from them. I become happy, in perspective, from them. They introduce me to all the lights, the different colors and shades, around the whole wide world. That, is a benefit unlike any other. 

Eyes can sparkle, they can be pretty and reflect, but it has to do with mouths too, and the pull of the cheeks, the raise and lower of the eyebrows. Mouths have to say, you're welcome to come and join me; they have to say: I like what you like; and they have to say, I’m happy you're here. I’m happy to say such with the shape of my mouth. Lips pressed impishly, corners turned up. The form of the cheeks are a different story, they have to be pallid or lax, plain as smooth as the mirrors you see, because those say you have no emotion, no opinions attached �" you are a blank canvas and they can write on you. Blank, like you are innocent, you won’t turn on them �" and I won’t. Blank, like your young and their telling you a story, rainbows and magic, dragons and enlightening. That you can feel sorry and pout over them, you can rejoice when they rejoice, you can holler with joy when they do, or sulk in rage when they don’t. Your eyes should be wide, butterfly wing wide, but not like butterflies because art holds opinions and that is what they’re wings are. Then the eyebrows should promise your interest and proclaim your innocence as well, and they should raise and lower with the emotions of your companion �" that is all, if you're a mirror though. And every move they make is momentous because they have your full, every second, attention. The attention of an innocent child who knows not but affection and attentiveness when attention’s caught just right. 

Mirrors seem fluid, they let everything roll off of them, remaining with a plain and tranquil surface. Mirrors, are filled with tranquility �" for other people. Mirrors aren’t made of that though. I like mirrors, they give me what I want, and that’s the reflection, not the face staring back at me, but the light inside another world. If I could be an adjective from another language, I’d be mirar because that’s what I want to be. It isn’t the best for everyone to be a mirror, and at times, it may not even be right for me, but a mirror over a lifetime is exactly what I am. I’m happy to be, it works, just for me.