When I look at myself in the mirror, I see brave people.
I see my great-grandmother holding a baby while carrying a huge bag full of sea salt on her shoulders under the hot greek sun.
She does not complain.
She is calm. She didn’t help her violent husband get out of prison cause she was afraid for herself and her girls.
She’s poor and alone, but she had never been that free.
I see my grandmother, who did not compromise to what the standards and the traditions were. She got married twice, trying to fit in the world’s standards. But, yaya is a free bird. She doesn’t need anyone. You can leave her all alone in a desert and she’d still find her way to survive. That’s strength.
When I look at myself in the mirror, I see a survivor.
I see that girl with the melancholic look asking too many questions that no-one was willing to answer.
I examine every inch of the body that four years ago I wanted to kill and happily realise I’m not that person anymore.
My nose and eyes seem so red in that mirror- I’ve had a drink or two I suppose.
Yes, I’ve been drinking- I don’t know why I stand naked in front of the mirror.
This may seem like a downfall, but I never break, I just crack.