Of Veils and Eyes

Yesterday, while waiting for my turn with my new shrink, I met this lady clothed in black. Being where I am, I have grown accustomed to the many Muslim women who cover their heads with such beautiful cloths. I have to say though, the ones who are dressed in black, who cover their entire faces save their eyes, those women still take some getting used to. There's something disconcerting about not seeing a person's facial expression.

Anyway, yesterday, I met a woman who was clothed just like that. Unlike many of the people I've randomly met here, she actually spoke to me in Tagalog, so I was able to engage in small talk with her. Turns out, she was born and raised in Manila and only moved to Iligan at the age of 26, when she got married. It felt strange to speak to only a pair of eyes. I couldn't even see if she was smiling or frowning. Exposed though they were, it seemed as though the eyes were still hidden.

After a few minutes of conversation though, she removed the lower portion of her veil and showed me the rest of her face. She said she felt comfortable enough to do that. She looked young for her age (she said she was 41), maybe because she's been shielding her face from the sun all this time (hmmm, mental note), but what really made her seem young was her chattiness. All she did was talk.

At first she was talking about why she was there (which I won't reveal), what her life was like back in Manila, her husband, her children; and then she started asking all these questions about me. What brought about my sickness. What happens to me when I get an attack. What medicines I'm taking. How many times I had been committed. I started to feel more and more uncomfortable until, well, I had an actual panic attack, right there in the waiting room. In front of the unveiled lady in black. I felt myself getting angrier and angrier at her intrusion, but my good upbringing was allowing me to tenuously hang on to my last reserves of politeness. The effort to not snap back took its toll, and so I started hyperventilating. I couldn't see straight anymore and I felt myself getting angrier and angrier. I must've scared her because after a while, she was chanting something, a Muslim blessing from the sound of it. After a while, she said a timid, "Sis, mauna na ako a," and left, making sure to cover her face again. All I saw were her worried eyes.

As soon as she left, I kept punching the walls, the tables, the chairs, all in an effort to calm down. I hated that she had gotten to me, that the client before me was taking so long (and all I could hear was her laughter, surely my condition was more important!), but mostly because...I was suffocating from the veil that I had been using to hide my emotions for so long. This woman showed me her face and practically told me her life story. I, with no veil, could not even look at her in the eye.

The rest of the session was a blur. As soon as it was my turn, the psychiatrist had to give me something to calm me down. By the end of the session, I felt like jello. Spent. Tired.

I have no idea what's going to happen to me now, in light of recent events (which I shall not talk about), but no, I am not ready to unveil the rest of me just yet.

Just look into my eyes and see if you can get anything out of it.