March 25th 2020 – DAY 12th of lockdown
In a rebellious act, I looked into the mirror and, as if breaking free from this invisible cage in which I have been twelve days already, I paint my lips red.
Maybe I did not have a red lipstick in my make-up purse for the last twenty-five years. Yes, since those times in which I used to disowned my tanned skin during summer and attempting to look like a geisha/punk/what-do-I-know, I used to apply a very expensive greenish cream that, below the make-up, several tones lighter than my skin, cancelled any rose color from my cheeks. At those times, in which Pluto was hanging hands with my Sun, a gothic and sinister entity possessed me and it only allowed me to dress in black and show up in ways that know I see as very little flattering.
A red lipstick was one of the last things I bought before the quarantine. I was desiring one for a long time, and in several occasions I went into a make-make-up shop, leaving with my empty hands. Infinite options of red. I do really back choosing among so many options. I get blocked. But that day of tension, the day that the toilet paper was sold out in Madrid, I went down to but Kleenex and, as it was forbidden to test the lipsticks for the posible infection, I asked the saleswoman to chose one for me.
I did not think about the lipstick in all these days. Until today. It was the day to go out shopping. Tired of the unrecognisable image of myself in the mirror, I dressed in black and grey, as the energy of the last news. Delighting myself in the moment, that I consciously made longer as if stopping time, the mirror lit up with my blood color, life color, lips.
In my imagination were the passers-by I would cross with. There looks of gratitude for the joy of my lips. My little grain of sand in an uncertain and sad world.
The town look like a desert. Not even my beloved Murakami would have imagined the possibility of a whole world in pause, with all the people isolated. Once in the street I took out from my pocket the mask that my mom had made hours ago, sewing close to the window. Mask. Walls. Borders. Cages into cages, like Russian matrioshkas.
I look into the mirror. I see myself different. Tomorrow I will make some waves in my hair. Waves of freedom that remind me of the Ocean.