

It’s so strange to look at myself and see an aging woman. Not a girl, not a teenager—but a woman. Now, in my face, I can clearly see how I’ll look at 40 and 60. Time flows so slowly, yet looking back, it feels as if it was never there at all. There is only the present. I’ll never be younger than I am right now.
It feels strange spending all this time at home, in solitude, but it’s as if I don’t want anything else, and I don’t have the energy for more. I wonder, are these 26 years really my youth? If youth is supposed to be the best years, then what comes next?
I used to love doing creative makeup. Now I wear makeup to fool time, layering powder to even my tone, to cover the bags under my eyes. But the result is almost laughable, like a modest fig leaf trying to cover too much.