"Soul Mirrors"

“The most beautiful journeys are waiting outside your window.”

Sure thing, Grandma, but are you even allowed to go on a journey during the pandemic? It’s been ages since I’ve eaten pho or met up with college friends. I was going to get an all-expense-paid trip to a conference in Seoul but that “journey” flew out the window when the whole world went on lockdown mode. But really, I shouldn’t be complaining. I’m actually not doing too badly. Didn’t lose my job or get sick. And I guess, these afternoon walks are sort of journey-like, though I don’t go on them for the fresh air. There isn’t much of that behind two masks. I go walking to interact with people’s soul mirrors, socially distanced of course.

While fellow-walkers stuff their hands in sweatshirt pockets and quickly trudge past me without a second glance, their soul mirrors whip around them at glaring speed, trying to protect their owners from any threat to the delicate “new normal”. CDs, frisbee discs, turtle shells, and glass bubbles, they all try their hardest regardless of size. Yet there is only so much a soul mirror can deflect. When the pain is too great, they crack, maybe even chip away. Over time, soul mirrors become badges of honor, depicting all the difficulties their owners overcame. I search for those badges to understand their history and to admire the light peeking through the scars.

A college student walks toward me now. She is in her own little world, wearing over-the-ear bluetooth headphones. Scrunched-up shoulders form a border around a military-green trench coat with a half-attached iron-on patch dangling from one sleeve. Her soul mirror is bouncing along next to her, a giant salad bowl, overflowing with rainbow silk scarves and bright flowers. The saturated colors disguise little bullet wounds scattered across the salad bowl. Where are those from?

That time in 3rd grade when no one wanted to play with her, and she sat by herself in the playground during recess. A Saturday morning, when all the other girls made fun of her in dance class for mixing up “burgers” and “boogers”. They chased her out of the dance studio after she said that she liked eating boogers. In AP Chinese, when her high school crush told her that he liked someone else before she even gathered enough courage to confess. The rapid succession of rejections when she thought that she had what it took to get into an Ivy League School. She didn’t. Last semester, when she experienced her first Asian Fail in the form of a sinful A- on her transcript. Not being able to see her brother in Switzerland for over a year. Always putting too much on her plate and not knowing when to stop and say no to things. Constantly drowning and over-promising. Having no idea where to go next year with no more semesters at college to look forward to. Angry at everyone close to her for caring about her. Angry at the world for messing up everything. Angry at herself for being angry.

My heart hurts and fumes with her. Even though the girl has never seen her soul mirror, the colorful bowl will stubbornly stay with her until the end, protecting her but also keeping all the hurt constantly within reach. Only those who are aware and willingly break their soul mirrors can be free from this blessing and burden.

Good afternoon, I tell her. The student quickly looks up from the ground and glances in my direction. I stare into troubled milk-chocolate eyes. She can’t see my smile, so I raise my hand in greeting.

Hello, she returns. I imagine a delicate smile hiding behind her black mask. With perfect Covid-19 etiquette, we pass each other on the sidewalk. I’m walking nearly on someone’s front yard, and the girl is stepping onto the road to maintain our distance. Her soul mirror glows silver briefly before it escapes my peripheral vision. I sense my own soul mirror wrap around me. A glowing green blanket that blocks out my vision and smells like cinnamon. After a few breaths, the warmth dissipates, and I’m by myself again. That’s when I miss my soul mirror the most.

It’s been gone for almost a decade now. The green bubble that you tried so hard to coax me out of years ago with delicious baked treats. I remember the sound of the wind flowing past my window as my parents drove me to your little cottage, so I could escape the noisy city. Mom told me that it was autumn because the trees were covered in blankets of sunrise, but I couldn’t see the golden and red leaves, just the shimmering walls of my soul mirror. After I arrived and heard the rumbling noises of dad’s Honda driving away, you caressed my hair and guided me to the kitchen for my first lesson.

That’s when I finally met the fall season. The spicy and sugary scent of cinnamon, nutmeg, and ginger. I heard the high-pitched creaking sound of an opening door, and a warm breeze passed through my protective orb. With your hand over mine, I brought a cold metal utensil to my mouth and took a bite of autumn. It was soft and moist.

What do you feel? You asked me.

I widened my eyes in surprise. It had been a while since I got that question. Everyone else just asked about what I could or couldn’t see. I was curious about you and peered into the glimmering shapes in my soul mirror. I think I caught a glimpse of your smile, a thin patch of light a bit brighter than its surroundings. A dark shadow materialized in my vision, gently hovering in front of me. You said it was something called pumpkin bread, the best treat to eat when it started getting colder. I reached toward the sweet heat source for another bite.

A few days later, you showed me a rectangular wild mushroom tart and then a circular german chocolate cake. When you took me outside to your precious herb garden, I saw little dashes in the rosemary shrub and floating buttons among the cherry tomato varieties. With you, the world was blurry in a happy and fluffy kind of way, like we were living inside a large white cotton ball.

When you passed away, the cotton ball became a dark licorice jawbreaker. The shadows outside my soul mirror grew blacker and longer without your bright smile. I was a little kid trapped in bed scared of the monsters hiding in the closet. I could only bear it for a few days before my soul mirror fractured on the way to the city cemetery. A piece near my left eye chipped away, a clear little disk that fell onto my lap and quickly evaporated. I looked out the window of dad’s brand-new Honda Accord and finally saw the brilliance of autumn’s sunrise. It was beautiful and that made me angry. How could the world still be so beautiful without you next to me? How dare my soul mirror hide so much when I was at my happiest?

I pounded my fists against the front of my soul mirror, enlarging the cracks beginning to spread across my little bubble. With a soft popping sound, my soul mirror shattered into tiny fragments. The pieces fluttered in the air for a second, reflecting the brilliant reds, yellows, and golds outside my window before they shimmered to mist and disappeared.

A rush of colors and light flooded around me, replacing the space where my soul mirror used to be. I looked ahead to study my parents for the first time. My mom was staring sadly through her window, a black bun loosely tied to the back of her head. Her soul mirror sat in front of her like a makeshift airbag, a red dinner plate with one large crack zigzagging across the middle. A crack that recently got larger when you left us. My dad’s unruly yellow hair was slicked back, trying to match with the black tuxedo he was wearing. His soul mirror, a basket weaved from book pages, hovered protectively around my mom, trying to support the sagging dinner plate.

It was strange to see my parent’s soul mirrors and their cracks. It made me wonder what cracks were on your soul mirror. I’m sad that I never got to see that part of you, but I’m no longer hiding within a green bubble. My window is wide open to all kinds of journeys, fun or difficult.

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Writing prompt

Choose one of the art pieces below and write a story based on what you see, feel, or get inspired by while looking at the artwork. You don’t need to know anything about the art piece. Just see where it takes you.

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Inspiration behind writing prompt

I came up with the idea of soul mirrors while studying Kevin Beasley’s acoustic mirrors at the Institute of Contemporary Art. The motley collection of garments and baseball caps appeared to represent a person’s personality. Furthermore, the shape of the mirror produced strange echoes, which made it feel like it was whispering back to me. I began to imagine that everyone had one of these acoustic mirrors, which reflected back an aspect of their personality. After some brainstorming, I decided to name them soul mirrors.

Untitled 11 (2015) by Kevin Beasley

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Recipe

Click here to access the pumpkin bread recipe, which goes with this story!