It was then my grandpa came and sat next me. To my surprise, he didn't lend me a hand. But, simply said, don't look up son.
Ahh.. Why did he have to be cryptic about it? I started at him, then looked down at my notebooks and carried on with it.
The next morning I went to school in the uniform of conformity and got a grade on my sleeve. No deliverance. I was scarred into a category. I looked one among the many. You couldn't find me easy. But yes, I got a tag too!
I came back with a heavy bag and a heavier heart. Dropped it on the floor and stared at it. And there he was again, my grandpa. Don't look down son, he said with a mystic grin. I looked at him after a few seconds, what do I do then?
He pulled in front of a mirror. You never have to look. You just are, son. In that moment, I didn't see myself. I saw what I was being made into. I saw all the eyes behind me crafting every inch of what I had to be. But, that kid wasn't me. My eyes, too, were borrowed from them. So, I turned around. Looked straight. At him. With that same grin. And we both knew then, I am.
Since that day, the mirrors never deterred me. I have worn only myself and didn't let go.
The complaints were always there. I was out of line, most times. But heck, what line? I gradually even learnt the trick of disappearing too. All I had to do was steal an eye of someone next to me. How would they know? They had never seen me. I have.