What do you think when you look in the mirror?
Wow.
I hate my mirror because I always have mixed feelings about what stares back at me when I gaze into it. If I had a heart, it would ache whenever I look at the sculpted face that looks back. I mourn for my humanity on a daily basis, and though there really isn't any point to doing so, every morning I reactivate myself, and walk into the bathroom to check and make sure what happened to me wasn't a bad dream.
On the other hand, lingering remnants of my recent reprogramming still exists, and I'm forced for some reason to admire the perfection of my physical form. I come from a long line of cybermen. Each of them were an improvement on the one that came before. I look at myself and think about my predecessors, and what the cybermen accomplished without the drive to absorb other cultures and technology in an effort to improve themselves. I have to respect their desire to remain self-reliant after a fashion. The humanoids they transform into the next generation (me for example)are the cybermen's way of ensuring that their race remains sentient. It's how they distinguish themselves from robots.
The feelings I have regarding what stares back at me are a mass of contradictions. I stand perfectly still in front of the mirror without moving and watch as the conflict escalates into an internal full scale war. I wait until the dust settles, and it's the outcome of the war that determines whether or not I'm going to hate myself that day.
Ultimately, it doesn't matter what the outcome is. Regardless of how I might feel on any given morning, I still walk out of the bathroom prepared to deal with the afternoon that follows.
I hate my mirror because I always have mixed feelings about what stares back at me when I gaze into it. If I had a heart, it would ache whenever I look at the sculpted face that looks back. I mourn for my humanity on a daily basis, and though there really isn't any point to doing so, every morning I reactivate myself, and walk into the bathroom to check and make sure what happened to me wasn't a bad dream.
On the other hand, lingering remnants of my recent reprogramming still exists, and I'm forced for some reason to admire the perfection of my physical form. I come from a long line of cybermen. Each of them were an improvement on the one that came before. I look at myself and think about my predecessors, and what the cybermen accomplished without the drive to absorb other cultures and technology in an effort to improve themselves. I have to respect their desire to remain self-reliant after a fashion. The humanoids they transform into the next generation (me for example)are the cybermen's way of ensuring that their race remains sentient. It's how they distinguish themselves from robots.
The feelings I have regarding what stares back at me are a mass of contradictions. I stand perfectly still in front of the mirror without moving and watch as the conflict escalates into an internal full scale war. I wait until the dust settles, and it's the outcome of the war that determines whether or not I'm going to hate myself that day.
Ultimately, it doesn't matter what the outcome is. Regardless of how I might feel on any given morning, I still walk out of the bathroom prepared to deal with the afternoon that follows.