A frown in the making

I have the same face as yesterday, at least I think I do. I can’t see more wrinkles or more white hairs (actually, there’s one fewer. I plucked one that was sticking out last night). There’s nothing on my face that indicates that I’m a year older today.

I guess every day I look slightly different, but it’s all gradual, thankfully, so I recognise myself in the mirror, unaware of the changes (breakouts and haircuts aside). Until one day you realise your frown is actually a permanent wrinkle.

This shouldn’t have come as a surprise. At 12, my music teacher already knew I’d have a frown for life. I’d pull that same face every time I played the viola. It was my ‘focus’ face. She’d widen her eyes so I’d mimic her surprised face, or try to ‘erase’ my frown with her thumb. But then I’d instantly lose focus, as if my musicality was tied to how moody I looked.

I stopped playing long ago, but unfortunately, reading music wasn’t the only thing that caused me to frown. It’s also my ‘wtf’ face, my ‘why did I come in here for’ face, my ‘sun in face’ face, my ‘how on earth do you pronounce this word?’ face.

One by one, these moments have carved the wrinkles that make me look slightly moody at all times. And no Gua Sha massage can do anything about it.

It bothers me sometimes, but then I remember I also frown when I eat something delicious (don’t ask me why I make this face. It’s like I’m judging the dish for daring to be so good). And believe me, it’s much easier to accept your frowny face when it’s about great food.

So happy birthday to me, my wrinkly frown and all the reasons behind it.