Back when I was in elementary school and high school, I used to feign dizziness and ask my mom for a visit to the opthalmologist. When I get headaches I would often say it was because of my eyes. She would often concede only to poke fun after the check-up at my false alarms of blurry visions. I can’t exactly explain why, but I’ve always wanted to wear glasses. I’d rather get glasses than get new clothes. But alas, I have always had perfect vision.

A few days ago, I was having a hard time reading the professor’s notes on the whiteboard from the back of the classroom. I was thinking it was either the handwriting was too small, or I was really experiencing a blurry vision. That night, over dinner, I once again introduced the idea of a visit to the eye clinic. Here we go again, my mother probably thought. Two days later, a visit to the eye clinic we did, and lo and behold, indeed I was experiencing astigmatism and blurriness of vision. It wasn’t something to be happy about, really, but I was, honestly, secretly excited.

Childhood frustration over. Now, until when my fascination will go on without turning into an inconvenience, I don’t know.