Thursday Connectors: Reflections Part One – Mirror, Mirror

By Farzana Hakim

Hello, it’s Farzana, your host for Thursday Connectors. How lovely it is to be back after what seems like forever. However, I’m sure you agree with me that I left my page in great hands. What a joy it was to read all those wonderful stories and thoughts from the youth. Well done, Saniya, you did a brilliant job!

I hope you all had a great summer. Mine was good. Although, now, without a roof over our extension and still waiting on the builders to come and complete it, I’m a bit stressed and hoping the renovations, which I initially thought would be small and quick, don’t run into the chillier winter months. Wishful thinking, I know! Once you invite builders into your house, it seems they never want to leave. No offence to all wonderful trades people. Without you, our houses would never be nice places to live in.

Well, our theme is ‘Reflections’ and with the house all messed up and the cluttered living arrangements causing me palpitations every time I try walking. It’s a case of one foot to the next, like a mission impossible, these last few weeks. Although, I did get some time out and attended three weddings. I had such fun, yet getting ready was harsh on my state of mind, as growing old is beginning to show on me: wrinkles around my eyes and laughter lines deep around my mouth. The dread nightmare of applying make-up!

While  putting make-up on my face, I realised I hated how I looked. The mirror didn’t show me my youthful self. And the more I looked,  the sadder I felt. I’m not a shallow person at all but, nearing menopause, I just felt so crap.  However, for the sake of good manners, when I met everyone after ages, I tried to chirp up and smile, completely forgetting how unhappy I had been feeling at home, as I stared in the mirror.

Luckily, I started  enjoying myself so much,  I didn’t even care any more how I looked. I was no longer thinking about my creases and  love handles bulging everywhere. Not even once! Because I was happy: inside and outside, I was over the moon at seeing faces from my childhood: old aunts and uncles and relatives and friends and they were equally happy to see me. We chatted, we danced and we rejoiced together and this joy must have shown on my face because I got complimented so many times on how well I looked and how my laugh and my jolly self hadn’t changed at all over the years.

This felt good and I guess it was what I needed: somebody to tell me I was still the same me and that my face isn’t what makes me the person I am. It’s my personality and my skin-deep connections to others doing that.

So, lesson learnt. I will try not to let growing old affect me too much from now on.  I’m going to embrace it and fight the menopause with a more positive outlook.

And now, because I had such a brilliant response to my call-out for Connectors, I’ve split these into a two-month special!

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First up, is a thought-provoking poem from Danny, which felt all-too relatable.

Hi, Danny. Let’s connect:

Glasses Make Me Look Younger

Looking at myself in the mirror,
Some age specific action happening around the eyes area,
And maybe a deepening of a few facial crevices.

Glasses make my eyes a tad bigger,
Changing the proportion of my face,
Biasing it youth-ward.

I’m a little animated too.
I observe the expressions of cute or comical characters I see on tv,
I assimilate a fraction of their manner to inform my timing,
Making me seem younger still.
Although the intention is actually to make myself more accessible and reflect less self-importance.

Then my attire, the standard American derived sportswear style for the classic casual look.
Baseball cap and hoodie,
Which makes me look younger still.

But without all that,
Looking at myself in the mirror,
Inanimate…
I’m sure I look older.
Old enough to almost pass for my age.
Although, maybe I just need more sleep.

© Danny Baxter, Xian Force Productions, 2025

Connect Instagram: @dan_lbbd.

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Our second Connector, MANNY, also sends us poetry which fits perfectly on my page. I loved it and felt the journey through time as though it could be anyone’s experience.

Hi, Manny. Let’s connect:

Reflection

In 2020,
I was the Beauty Within The Cracks
Not feeling great about myself,
Not feeling strong for so long
I kept questioning what beauty was.

Is it true
What people were saying about me?
In person and online
Being bullied through a dark time
I was exhausted,
I wasn’t sure what to do

Mirrors huddled all around,
I began trying to sprint away from them
I felt like a canvas
Painted with emotions deep
That didn’t want to
Be exhibited for people to see

I was stuck at a Freezing crossroad
Not knowing
Who I was
I just Strolled around the place
With no sense of direction

I began
Questioning over and over
Should I
Hide my sexuality?
Once afraid of
What people would think of me
Feeling like I was letting people down
I felt suffocated.
I felt alone.
Maybe I won’t get
Back on stage again
I was so anxious

Cracks began to appear around me

Falling right through
Without anything to hold on to
And I
Felt like I was just falling and falling
To an unknown place.

Next chapter
In 2021
I discovered that
One of my superpowers
Is art and creativity in
ART IS MY SUPERPOWER
Which was amazing, but
I still kept asking myself

Should I keep creating?
Or just let it go?

It left me so confused
I started
Swimming between the gaps of life
While
Emotions began flowing out
I always felt like I was drowning,
Drowning in these
Thoughts
Strong currents,
Howling winds,
Mighty waves
Biting into my face,
Yet ever so refreshing,
But so cold.

That was it
I grew tired of hiding
And running
And hiding
And more running

The cycle stopped
I finally found the
Courage to put myself out there again.
Next chapter
I continued on onto
The blazing adventure

In 2023 I discovered my
BURNIN’ FLAME
I journeyed through The fire to come
Out the other side.

The freezing wind decided to make an Appearance and tried to blow my fire out

I stood my ground through it
And started to believe in myself more
Even though a lot of
People didn’t believe in me
So many battles fought
So much doubt built up inside me
An abundance of questions were raised
But, was never answered
I moved on from that.

The strength I needed,
The support I was given
Has got me to where I am today
Onto the next chapter
Chapter four
I am now
Steppin’ Out Stronger.

© MANNY, 2025

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I now connect with Sebastian, whose short piece also shows how mirrors and our reflections can become portals into our feelings and souls, impacting our lives so very much.

Hi, Sebastian. Let’s connect:

Sad Memory Still Regin

I picked a bouquet of white lilies to visit Ruth’s grave;
Though fifty years have passed, I still must be brave.
Before I departed for the last time, I checked in the glass—
My heart still breaks for the childhood she had to pass.

The mirrored reflection I saw was not pleasing,
As I ran a comb through my hair, teasing.
Nature had decorated my features for forty years with grace,
But the ornate-framed photo behind me still stung my face.
A boy and a white-haired, wrinkled lady smiled, unaware,
It pulled me fifty years back, into a memory lain there.

I visited Ruth each day after school, when I was eight;
She always would share with me her cholent and pate.
She spoke of a childhood burdened by sorrow,
I pleaded, “Please, Ruth, share the grief you must borrow.”

“Oh, child! It was horror! It was sorrow and pain!
A season of darkness, a murderous reign.
They stormed in without welcome, with incensed, hateful face,
They said, ‘You are Jews, you have no place.’
We were hunted like animals for being Jews;
They enjoyed the chase—I lost even my shoes.
My family vanished in minutes before my eyes;
What sin had I done to deserve such a prize?

A days-long journey like cattle, to a nameless place,
All of us children with horror on each face.
That was the last day I saw my father or mother;
I dreamed they’d return on a chariot of feather.”

Those were the facts Ruth told me, tears rolling down her cheek.
I asked, “Please, Ruth, what happened next?” my small voice weak and meek.
“Child, you are too young, you don’t want to know the rest,”
That’s what Ruth told me—I felt the sad weight of her breath.

© Sebastian Elanko, 2025

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I now connect with Ange Wilson, who sent in a poem about her reflection of a musical instrument, making me reflect on years gone by.

Hi, Ange. Let’s connect:

Where Echoes Linger

The needle trembles
on the vinyl spiral path
turntable hums
fingers hover like stars
searching for lost grooves
and the voice of someone
you once were
leaks through soft static
beneath the surface of silence.
where longing dances
and time rewinds a perfect sound.

© A J Wilson, 2025

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Finally, I connect with Claire, whose beautiful short story depicts how personal a reflection can be for an individual due to circumstance and experience.

Hi, Claire. Let’s connect:

Inked Reflections

Reflection is more than what we see in the mirror. It’s a way of coming to terms with who we were, who we are now, and who we still might become. In my short story, Flower Power (My Weekly July 18-25 2023), I explored this idea through the character of Lyn, who has undergone a mastectomy. Lyn’s decision to get a tattoo across the scar becomes a point of emotional friction with her husband, Steve, her daughter, Tash, and her best friend, Jill, all of whom express concern, if not outright disapproval. But at the heart of the story is not the tattoo, nor the opposition, but a moment of deep reflection.

The story was inspired by an episode of The Conversation –Turning Scars Into Body Art (available on BBC Sounds), where two tattoo artists spoke about how skin heals, how ink behaves over scar tissue, and how much care is required. That conversation showed how tattoos can be transformative and liberating, but also how personal and vulnerable the decision can be.

Here’s a scene where Lyn tries on a post-surgery swimsuit, confronting her altered body in the mirror:

In the changing room, I wriggled into the costume. The high neckline and armholes did a good job of covering every inch of the scar. I decided I’d take it and then, on impulse, pressed the buzzer for the sales assistant and asked if she’d bring me a floral bikini in my size. I tried it on and stared at my reflection. The bright multi colours zinged in contrast to my pasty skin, which hadn’t seen the sun in ages. I hadn’t been able to halt middle-aged spread over the years, but didn’t think I looked too bad, considering. I was proud of what my body had survived. The faded silver stretch marks on my stomach reminded me of having Tash and, because they represented such a happy outcome, had never bothered me. I pulled the straps down and felt like a hummingbird drawn to the bright coloured flowers as I imagined them as a tattoo. Then, it hit me. I’d relied on Jill and my close family during my recovery over the past three years and let them take charge in all sorts of ways, from cooking nourishing meals to offering emotional support. Empowerment and the need to reclaim control were my words, after all. Tash and Jill would understand once they knew I was determined and not desperate for their blessing.

I wanted to capture something honest about the way we engage with our own image, especially after change. For women in particular, reflection can be fraught with layers of expectation, memory, grief and strength.

Lyn is reclaiming. Her tattoo is not an act of defiance against her loved ones, but a declaration of ownership over her own body, and a way to shift what the mirror shows her: from something that happened to her, to something she chose. Eventually, her husband realises this, and the ending is an uplifting one.

Sometimes, all we need is a new way of seeing our reflection, framed not by judgment, but by intent.

© Claire Buckle, 2025

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Brilliant writing this month. Thank you to all my Connectors. Next month, in the second part of Mirror Mirror, I’ll be commenting from the perspective of our new theme of (R)Evolution, looking at how our minds can sometimes hold us hostage and play with our feelings and outlook, while impacting the ‘evolution’ of our decisions.

See you soon!