November 4, 2009
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This girl I always see, as she takes a glimpse at a mirror or sheet of glass. She too, sees me, right there, her reflection. Unable to do or say anything, I stare back. It's confusing. That girl is exactly my copy. Same face, same hair, same eyes, it’s all cloned. It doesn't matter to try and find a disturbance, there’s no slight difference. We're perfectly identical, in a sense.

I can get so jealous. She can have a body of her own, while I'm practically a vision. When she does something in front of a reflective surface, I have to as well. There's no loopholes or exceptions, it's a concrete law. Me, as her reflection, must mimic her. She has all control, because she’s real in that world. Me? I'm just a brief image you look at for a small period of time, and then forget. Behind every shinning surface, I wait for her, only making my appearance when she arrives. This is a classic figment of the universe, and I think she has the lucky side. She's flesh and blood, and blissfully ignorant of my true existence. She thinks she can recall her 13 years adequately well, but I can remember far more than she.

She began the journey of life as an orphaned baby faraway in Suzhou, China. During those years, baby girls weren't generally wanted. Why she was abandoned was most likely dominated by two reasons. One, To try and reduce the population. the Chinese government said that parents could have one child, no more. In that country, the government controlled everything. Also caring for more than a single child can be difficult for certain families. two, there is an old custom. when parents grow old, it's their son who will take care of them until their last days flit by. So, I think it's purely understandable why her parent's did what they did. She can live, and they can live. But sadly the solid answer isn’t black and white. Maybe they had too many children, maybe they wanted a son, maybe it could be both. Regardless of what happened, the orphanage took her in, naming her “Lihua”, which means beautiful China. At 8 months old, she got her official name when she was adopted by an american couple, unable to have offspring themselves. I refer to her as a very lucky girl. out of hundreds of kids waiting for a loving family to take them in their circle, it was her who was chosen. I thought it was a wonderful twist of fate, but there’s a hole that remains, drilled through her mind. Who really were her blood parents? I don't know that, and she knows even less.

Now in the USA, she began to move from infancy to toddler stage. Her figuring out how to run was more a curse than a blessing. At random, she would dash off, leaving her parents to the chase. It was like a speedy game that didn't have a proper starting or finishing line. she played whenever she pleased. I remember so clearly the padder of tiny feet and the loud, trilling laughs echoing in the silent air. Existing only as a picture, I really couldn't feel the joy she felt. My job was cut down to imitating those smiling teeth and rosy cheeks, yet time kept sprinting even faster than she could run. She didn't stay a jittery toddler for long, and before I even knew it, she was a teenager, changing dramatically in size and looks, but more so in interests.

In my opinion, she was the most irresponsible kid in 6th grade! She wouldn't do squat! As the teacher began to yap about some math or other things she hates, she'd be busy staring out the window like a brainless ghost. She couldn't see me return the gaze, the light was too bright. All she saw was the blue, cloud dotted skies and lush green plains eating up the land. If I had the ability to, I would’ve hit her with one of those heavy text books, a painful, but necessary reminder of what she should be doing. She often grew frustrated when she didn't get the curriculum the other students did. Why? Because she wasn't paying good enough attention. Later on though, she was given some medicine that was supposed to help her focus in school, and she stopped gazing outside to actually listen to her teachers. I guess I was glad, her grades did improve. One downside was that 7th grade was far more of a challenge.

Like always, I watched behind a layer of glass when she talked to her mother about mixed emotions, often times stemming from school. Her mother said that Middle school was hard for everybody, even when it mostly doesn't show. The kids are trying to figure out who they are, what they like, who their friends are, and, typically how to be a young adult. I've overheard that parent's and their teenage children have a stage of fighting. Some rounds last longer than others. Thankfully, she didn’t remain in that stage for years on end. With exams, kids, and teachers combined, it made 7th grade feel more than just a mere 9 months, but it was pleasing to see her grow and mature, in some aspects. She’ll probably stay as a silly teen until she’s thirty. that summer moved quite fast, and Middle School once again reared it’s ugly head.

She's in 8th grade now, and living out each day like her last. I can tell she particularly enjoys being the top of the school, and she’s mainly accepted that some days will be good, while some will be bad. She does question many things often, but she tries to not let it ruin her. She has many things figured out. She’s balanced school time and friend time just right, so neither is greater than the other. Occasionally, she will look into a mirror or window, but not for very long though. she still doesn’t know that I’m there, that I’m real, someone who lives differently, but still, lives. Is is better like that? I can’t decide. If I tried hard enough, can I somehow contact her? talk to her, as a normal being would? My hopes are low. I’m just an image, she’s just a human. It’s the way things should be, yet unknown to her, I exist. For your ears only, please keep this in memory. there was a living Reflection of her, no matter what circumstances, and no matter what evidence. She'll continue to grow, and as her Reflection, I will grow as well.

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