Sometimes, I stare at myself in the mirror. There’s a small percentage of that time when I’m carefully inspecting my face, because I’m paranoid that there’s a blemish that I’m unaware of, or trying to see if there’s like an unruly nose hair or something that’s been agitating the shit out of me for the last random denomination of time that needs to be plucked. But the vast majority of the time, I’m looking, with a combination of disdain, acceptance and sadness, and the ever-growing number of white hairs that are sprouting all over my head.
Especially at the very front of the sides, like right above my temples. They’re particularly going white right around there, and I’m beginning to feel like I’m turning into an Asian Reed Richards from the Fantastic Four except I’m not a super genius, nor can my entire anatomy including my clothing stretch like impervious rubber.
But it’s times like this when I kind of wish I could look back to as early as just like two years ago when I didn’t have so much white hair to see what I looked like. Sure, my weight has fluctuated over the last 5-6 years due to not having a gym to go to on account of inconsistent finances, but at least my hair was almost entire still black, and not full of wispy defiant white hairs as it is now.
The thing is, it’s difficult to do that, because as it turns out, I don’t really have a whole lot of pictures of myself, and in a way that kind of makes me a little bit sad. Often times I’m the guy taking the pictures, and that’s somewhat of a reputation I’ve developed, so whenever I’m around in occasions where a camera might be nice to have, it’s often me the guy with it, and nobody else. Sure I could always have people take the occasional picture for me, but frankly it always seems a little awkward to me, and I find that social occasion photos feel the most genuine when they kind of happen organically, instead of carefully planned.
I don’t even have a decent picture of myself to use in conjunction with this post.