For a minute I appreciate and embrace my almond shaped brown eyes.
I see a black rim around the iris itself and a vivid reddish-orange around the pupil.
Within the iris itself seems to be a balance of gold and lighter-brown rays. My body has generous patches of cellulite and red splotches of irritated skin, my hair is soft and luscious as it’s ever been - not overly thick and dry with greasy roots due to the dry shampoo I used on Monday mornings when I was late for school.
I pondered over this strange sight of how my body has been reversed to my three year old self. I then later knock myself out of this traumatic shock and ask myself, “How did this happen?" After I have composed myself to a stable pace, I tell myself that perhaps this has served me a chance to glance over my faults of the past fifteen years through the eyes of my very own three year old.
I giggled at the thought of how Charles Darwin would have been so intrigued at the thought of this anatomic reverse of the body and age, as amused as I was, I also found it quite strange and peculiar in its own ways.
What do three year old's do? They have rich delusional imaginations, they may have strong fears, they love to play hide and seek and reenact the teacher’s imitations, and they enjoy physical activity (which seems a whole lot better than being a fifteen year old, coming home from a dreaded day at school and sighing at the sight of a grand tour of incomplete homework and past papers waiting for you right on that messy and lazy study table). Why am I so tired all of a sudden?
I remember mum tucking me in my single bed laced with pink frills that was way
too crowded with stuffed toys and fluffy pillows, I remember dad coming home late from work and kissing my forehead when I was half asleep, and I remember mum asking her friends for the best schools available for her three year old daughter.
I remember it all and it's all too hard to digest at once. I didn't have to distress over how nauseous it felt to ride on the school bus with mischievous kids laughing at amateur jokes, instead now I would be part of those kids, or maybe I'd be the awkward kid in the corner licking the window. I shrugged off that thought at once.
I'm three years old once again with the mind of my fifteen year old self! And I kid you not; it’s quite the overwhelming situation I find myself placed in. Frustrated at all the flashbacks that strike me every five minutes, I'm forced to think of how stupid I was and how everything could have been different, how I could have been different, all starting from the age of a three year old, overly shy and awkward kid with no slight symptom of self-esteem improvement.
Hold that thought- even being fifteen years of age, I'm still awkward and maybe a slight hint of confidence has indulged within. Being three years old again is quite the luxury in the mentality of a teenager and I now have the power to fix it all, once I'm fifteen again maybe I'll tell myself from time to time that I should have never tried to side-part my bangs in grade six, maybe tell myself that having eczema is fine and that I shouldn't have worn that lousy sweater to school just to cover it up despite the heat and humidity.
I’d probably tell myself a lot of things but for now I can hear mum approaching my bedroom; I should probably take a nap now and make the best of this fresh youth I have grasped in-between my fingers.
By Saharah Twinkle Gardner, as her response for the second task.