To Be Seen, I Must First See

Someone recently looked into my eyes and told me they were beautiful. I assumed they were trying to rizz me up; after all, people often like to give polite compliments.

But most importantly, I have never thought my eyes were beautiful. I think my eyes are black and ordinary, with nothing about them that could make you stop dead in your tracks or catch your breath. They’re just plain black eyes that could have belonged to a doll.

Later, at home, after brushing my teeth, I stood in front of the magnifying mirror in my bathroom to look at my teeth, which is usually where my gaze goes when I look in the mirror. But then I looked at my magnified eyes, and for the first time, I actually saw them.

They were not black, as I had always assumed. They were brown, or something close to it. I am not good with colors, so I cannot name the shade properly; they were definitely not black, and they look different depending on how the light hits them.

For the first time in my life, I saw my own eyes as if they belonged to someone else. Because while I have always looked at other people’s eyes, I have never truly looked at mine until now.

Whether that person was being kind or not no longer mattered. I simply could not believe that a compliment from someone I might never see again was what it took to finally notice myself.

For someone like me, who believes that the height of love is to see and to be seen, I ask myself, what does it mean to want to be seen if I have not even seen myself? How can I claim to know another person, to truly understand them, if I am still a stranger to something as basic and obvious as my own eyes? Eyes that I look at every day in the mirror, applying mascara and whatnot almost every day for the past decade, maybe?

If I have overlooked something so visible, what else have I missed? What about the rest of me that I barely look at and only acknowledge in passing? My toes, for instance, which I see for an hour or two a day before they disappear into socks again.

So, after my shower today, I sat on the edge of my bed, legs folded awkwardly (yeah, I’m that stiff), and studied them. My right foot, then my left. I looked at them as if they belonged to someone I was trying to understand. I waited to see if I would see something I had overlooked simply because I assumed there was nothing to see. I did find something, though.

Maybe a tad dramatic. But isn’t life dramatic?

It is true, proximity is not the same as awareness. Familiarity can breed blindness. We stop looking at things—and people—because we assume there’s nothing left to discover. It’s like being in a long-term relationship and just not seeing them anymore, because you think there is simply no more to see! What else could they morph into after 15 years together? Uhm, a new person?

So, yeah, I’m done rushing past the “ordinary” parts of me. I want to know my own textures and details first. That way, I can see others better, and when I ask to be seen, I actually know what the hell I’m asking for.

…and while we all go through life hoping to be seen and singing Shayne Ward’s song, I say see me or don’t, I’ve already started looking.