Another ViceRylle Story

Troubled

I looked up and saw pair of hazel eyes staring right back at me. I paused for a little and take it all in. they always said these eyes are nothing but beautiful in every aspect, good or bad; eyes that had shed enough tears to benumb the pain; eyes that had shimmered enough glow to reflect the joy; eyes that had closed to ease and help the worrisome mind to forget; eyes that had opened to welcome the new day and make it all right again. The strong eyes that had gone through it all. The kind of eyes that you can admire and be proud of. Sure, perhaps, we can all agree with that, looking at them from afar; looking at them from the outside. And infinitely hearing all these good things about them sure did make them look beautiful, like how exactly people describe them.

Beautiful, somehow.

Yet somewhere in my head still lies the undying doubt.

Because these same eyes don't seem that beautiful right now. They never have, in my opinion.

And I know this because I am looking right through them.

Scrutinizing.

Judging.

I know this because they are mine. They are my hazel eyes. And I'm the only one here who can look at them from the inside.

The funny thing about people is: they assume. Whether it's intentionally or not, they assume. We all do. We assume things. Especially about the things that we aren't really sure of. The ugly truth right there. And we mistake it as something natural, even though we have the ability to cure it. Cure it and make things better.

But we don't.

People assume things about other people. Quick and easy. And as how I call it, it's a judgement in disguise. The same way as how they assumed I am perfectly fine, just by looking at my "beautiful eyes"; that I'm happy; that I have no problems; that I have everything I need sitting within my reach. They look at me for a while, make me believe they really 'see' right through me, but, as always, they just look passed me.

They never had the chance to completely look at me, and see the real worry.

Who would? No one does. No one can see right through you like how you see yourself.

With a sigh, I ignored the judging eyes on the mirror and focused on the fingers on my lap.

I mean, right in my very situation, yes some people might have gotten their glimpses, but majority assumes that I'm happy, right?

That's what they think when they hear my name.

Karylle.

Ana Karylle Tatlonghari.

I'm Zsazsa Padilla's daughter, for god's sake! Raised by celebrities. Grew up in a mansion. Traveled the world. Experienced fancy, sophisticated stuff. Never lived a fortuneless day. Opportunities laid flat right at my doorstep. In a single snap, I get what I want. Hell on that note, I really should be perfectly fine.

And yes, I've had my share of unfortunate events; got my heart broken; got judged; got discriminated; got laughed at. But the ticking of the clock will never stop and people move on. Days had passed until that bitter, grief-stricken memory of a lost love sounded like a joke to me now. A punchline to make my name, somehow, humorous.

Don't get me wrong, it still stings, of course. It has left me a huge scar, one that will never be erased; one that will always remind me of my insecurities and fears.

But I am not that broken person anymore. At least, that's what I feel about the person I am now. Damaged but stronger.

So people assumed I am better; that I am in the perfect place in my life.