Eyes Eyes Eyes Eyes

People believe that I am a studious person.

But, actually, I am not—at least not consistently.

Even I could not quite grasp the reason why I am viewed this way. Not that I am ungrateful for that perspective, but somehow, as I grew up, I learned to accept others' compliments where they are due. If they’re not, I usually shrug it off, because I cannot burden myself with that misapprehension.

Of course, everyone wants at least some soft words from someone.

However, in my case, people, especially in our neighborhood, have loosely seen me throughout my growing years as a bespectacled, studious kid, which I thought was weird. Admittedly, I was that kid whose normal eyesight was lost somewhere in her sophomore year for an I-don't-know reason. But I was definitely not the kid (who might have been living in her head) who had to wear glasses because her vision couldn’t handle the immense intelligence people believed she had.

To set the record straight: I am not academically intelligent. However, I have been almost consistently aware of my tendency to be somewhat passionate about things that I find challenging. Therefore, people I know may have interpreted those instances in the past as proof of my intellectual capacity. If only they knew that I didn’t learn how to divide with remainders until I was already in sixth grade. And it was the shameful truth, as a grade schooler, that I had to keep it hidden from anyone throughout my elementary days.

Having to wear eyeglasses was something I thought I would like. I still remember whispering to the heavens, asking if they could slightly adjust my eyesight just enough for me to need spectacles. And that's when I learned to be careful with my unconscious wishful thinking, because sometime during my second year in high school, I started to see the world through a blurry lens.

I remember the anxiety I felt the first time I realized that I couldn’t clearly see what was written on the blackboard. It was strange, like I had to figure out some words because I wasn’t sure if I was seeing them the right way. There were times when I mistakenly thought that one word was another, but when I read the sentence in my head, it just didn’t make sense. And for the first time in my life, I felt a surge of uncertainty because I couldn’t see the world the way I used to.

And it was frightening.

But more than anything else, what I realized was that I had to live with guilt at that time because purchasing eyeglasses was something I thought my parents could afford. I remember the hesitation when my mother and I found out how much we had to spend on my first pair of eyeglasses. It was so pricey!

I only thought of myself, without considering the consequences that might arise from my selfishness. After that, I decided to apply for scholarships, which I had consistently dismissed despite my mother's insistence that I was qualified. I was confident in my academic abilities, but I knew there were students who deserved my spot more than I did. But thinking about how my parents had to stretch our monthly budget because of the cost of my eyeglasses made me feel deeply sorry for my negligence.

I guess that’s the reason I grew up not being flattered by how people saw me as smart just because I wore spectacles, because it reminded me more of how I gave up my eyesight just to experience what it felt like to wear them. I was really immature back then.

I thought I was the only one who felt this way. When I met people who later became my friends, they shared the same sentiments and how they weren’t happy when people assumed they were intelligent just because they wore eyeglasses. They felt pressured because people had already formed a big impression of who they were based on that simple pair of lenses. Instead of being seen as normal, we were viewed as people who were devoted to solitude and boredom. Sometimes, we were even poked fun at for having “two sets of eyes.”

But then, even if I still had my normal vision, I feel like people would still see me the same way. Growing up, I noticed how my eyebrows caught people’s attention for being hairless. It was once my insecurity for a short time, but it never became a major issue during my adolescence. I was cool with how they looked on me. But I guess, since it looked strange to someone who had thicker eyebrows, they couldn’t help but pay attention to it to the point where it was unnecessary for them to acknowledge it with a condescending sneer. It was exhausting to listen to their constant insistence that I should apply something to my eyebrows. Like, does it bother them that much? Does it disturb their inner peace? Does it look so disgusting that they can’t even bear it? Or are they simply concerned about their own comfort, which is why they don’t care that I’m perfectly cool with it as it is?

Then it takes me back to my high school days. I could not exactly remember the whole thing, but there’s someone in my circle who reassured me about my eyebrows. She finished her sentence randomly by saying innocently that I might have liked burning the midnight oil every night, and that’s why my eyebrows are so thin.

Instead of getting offended by her remark, I was kind of wonderstruck by how she connected my thin eyebrows to me—burning the midnight oil. In our language, the latter is translated as nagsusunog ng kilay, or literally in English, it says "burning the eyebrows." I was in awe of how she thought about it out of nowhere without realizing that she was making sense.

"Burning the midnight oil" is an idiomatic expression used to describe someone who laboriously studies or works late at night, using the light of an oil lamp or candle for illumination. This is similar to "nagsusunog ng kilay" (burning the eyebrows). However, with the mention of eyebrows, the explanation is that since the light from the lamp or candle could not reach far, the person has to lean closer to it to get a steady and much more defined glow. So, their silhouette probably looks like someone who is burning their eyebrows because of their posture. Weirdly enough, I was comforted by this friend's odd association.

Perhaps there’s no harm when people make assumptions about you based on what they see on the outside. Since outward features are the starting point for characterization, it’s natural for them to base their assumptions on what they can see through their eyes first. With my eyeglasses and eyebrows—and through their eyes—it’s interesting how everything is initially decided through vision. I just realized how I disliked it when people thought I was smart because of my eyeglasses, yet I was in awe when my friend associated my thin eyebrows with being diligent.

I guess I like it more when people see me as diligent rather than intelligent.