Full name: Le Thi Phuong

Student’s ID: 4501701118

Link video: https://youtu.be/1Dq9_1ZP3Hs

5 MINUTES
My mother loves to look at herself in the mirror every morning. She enjoys
examining her face as if she woke up in another body. At those times, her eyes
are solemn, gliding along each curve of her face and then stopping, still keeping
that gaze and looking straight into the mirror. Two pairs of eyes, half illusory
and half-real, were so polite and formal, like an extraordinary morning greeting
ritual. All these steps last for about 5 minutes, and then she quietly comes out,
prepares breakfast, cleans up the corner of the yard, and pulls her sleepy worms
to go to school. We never asked her why she had such a habit. Perhaps
unconsciously, when lying in the crib, I saw it and accepted it for granted. And
so is my mother. Regardless of rain or shine, being busy, or being far away, she
will still spend the first 5 minutes of the morning looking at herself as long as
there is a mirror. Perhaps, instead of looking at the phone screen like teenagers
these days, my middle-aged mother chooses to look in the mirror. Without
asking, without being emotional, we respect each other's habits.

We live in a secluded town in northern Vietnam, where obsolete ˈɒbsəliːt

notions are being handed down through the generations. The concept of
respecting men and despising women continues to weigh heavily on women's
shoulders. My mother is no exception. The others always looked down on this
lady who dropped out of school to get married due to poverty.

Despite the insults, she still fulfills her responsibilities as a mother. She does,
however, spend 5 minutes every morning staring in the mirror. I noted that she
did not groom or beautify herself at such moments, but instead merely glanced
at her face.

My father never complains about those "5 minutes" of my mother. Perhaps he

thought that as long as it didn't affect his work, he would never ask about it. My
father is the owner of a farm. He often visits his farm and spends the whole day
there. Every time he stepped out of the door, he held his head high, proud like a
general. In this village, he has a bit of a reputation when he built his career from
the ground up. Perhaps because he was always busy building his status, he has
never paid attention to my mother as well as her 5-minute routine.

On one rainy day, I leaned on the eaves and looked at the September raindrops
rolling round and round on the branches. In a split second, I thought of my
mother and Snow White. Did my mother know how to talk to mirrors?
Therefore every morning, she would come and ask, "Mirror, mirror on the wall,
who's the fairest of them all?" I was curious if that happened, what would be the
answer, and whether my mom received the same or different answers all these
years. If there was someone more beautiful than her, one or more, would she
turn into a vengeful Queen to hunt down all the Snow Whites? Thinking of that,
I laughed. The cold autumn weather makes people think naively. Suddenly, a
burst of lightning lit up the sky, briefly lighting the garden before reverting to
the floating gray and white curtain. My mind kept repeating the number of times
we complimented her beauty. Usually, it's on special occasions like birthdays.
Maybe at that time, we find it an obligation to praise her. She rarely complains
about it. Perhaps having a mirror compliment her every morning is more than
enough.

That night, in the croaking sound of frogs, huddled in my mother's armpit, I

pretended to ask her:

- Since when do you like to look at yourself in the morning?

She froze slightly, her eyes twinkling.

- Hmm. I don't know. It must have been when there were two of you.

Then she halted in her tracks. Next to me, her whole warm body seemed to
become light as a feather. She burst into laughter.

- It's weird, right?

This must have been the first time she thought of that habit, the first time she
thought of her strange ritual.

- Why so? I thought it was when you and dad got married. You must have been
afraid that you would wake up with an ugly face in the morning, so you sneaked
up and looked in the mirror and fixed your hair, right?
I embraced her tightly and softly shook her as a sign that I was teasing her. I
enjoy seeing her shyness, and even now, when someone inquires about her and
my father's love, her cheeks remain rosy, bashful like a rose garden in the
morning.

- No, your father is quite laid-back. It's just that I'm afraid I'll forget my
face.

That night, I hummed the poem by Rupi Kaur.

In a dream,

I saw my mother.

With the love of her life

And no children.

It was the happiest I'd ever seen her.

Perhaps that's right. Because after five short minutes of making it her own, the
rest of her time belongs to us, and we have no doubts about it.

I remember the time I saw a photo of her when she was in her twenty. Her eyes
twinkled in the photograph, and her smile resembled a blooming lilac. Those
eyes and those lips are still lovely, but the traces of time have taken away a
woman's vigor. She looks in the mirror as a way she recalls herself when she
was young and feels appreciative for the beauty she had.

Yet she has never gotten any recognition or compliments from my father. It
seems that in our place, as long as someone earns a good amount of money, that
person will be revered, which is why my father works so hard every day. So he
unintentionally forgets to be grateful for what she is doing. My mom never asks
for it. She knows how to love herself, encourage herself by looking in the
mirror.

The most essential thing is to love yourself. Only she knows how hard she tried
without others' approval.

“It's weird, right?”

She laid next to me, still breathing evenly, deep in sleep, her face serene and
gentle.

Probably only mothers are so afraid of losing their faces in this world.