Hall of Mirrors

That we are not as beautiful as we ought to be in photographs is no sign of bad images. We have learned to see ourselves as beautiful in the mirror. The angle at which we look at ourselves in mirrors is our best possible one and we are complicit with the mirror in this deception. Here is a hall of mirrors that are somewhat more sincere.

What it represents is us in the roles we have taken. Those that are assigned to us from the moment of birth and to which we have acquiesced proudly and satisfactorily, and we still continue to do so. And our birth itself is the repetitive role of parenthood. And we are the most hard-handed guardians of this confinement that results from a collective—and individual—will.

What we are is the best? Is it something we would want or impose on us and because it is consistent with the predetermined definitions, we have no chance, power, and willingness to object?