Why do some of us have to be blighted by poor sight? It’s often been a source of such irritation to me that I can’t see the glorious details of the surrounding world without the aid of some implement or other.
Otherwise the wonders of nature; the intricate lines, plethora of shades and colours that combine in perfect unison are nothing but a blurred mess to me. Yes, I know, I should be thankful that I can see at all because there are some of us who cannot. But it’s still OK to be jealous of those with the coveted 20/20 vision, an attribute that my sister raves about with glee when in my company. It’s wasted on her. She’s as appreciative of the artistic world as a mop would be to a bucket of clean water.
I cannot pass by a field without glorifying in the branches, the leaves and the creatures that roam around its shade and soar above its canopy. Walking my dog through parks and green areas always lifts my spirits. I bask in the gentle breeze and take scores of pictures of the skyline, the landscape, the mellow ladybirds implanted on blackberry bushes and the brown rabbits scurrying into their burrows as my dog and I enter their view. All this achieved by the power of contacts.
My life will be one in which glasses rule, and I must be sure to remember my subjugation.
It’s been months since I lost my glasses and I’ve been so busy with everything else in life that I’ve all but forgotten about them. Although I’m not walking around in mess world, I’ve got contacts that I use every day. Sometimes I forget to put them in my eyes in the mornings. I’ll get dressed, eat breakfast, pour my morning coffee into a flask for the journey to work, leave the house and dive into the car. I’ll turn the ignition before I realise that the road is nothing but a haze of grey and green. Then I’ll shout something incoherent and return to the house to find my contacts.
It’s a travesty. But at least the contacts are something. When I (often) forget to order said contacts in time that’s when the situation gets dire. A few weeks ago I had to wear my prescription sunglasses to drive to work during a damp and gloomy day, and then asked my boss to leave the office early because I “had forgotten my contacts”. Imagine telling the boss you have to leave because you can’t see the road in the dark? What kind of an idiot says that? At least he laughed, and then let me go.
I wonder whose fault it was, or whose faulty genes were passed on to me leading to my less-than-adequate eyes. My mum didn’t wear glasses when we were young and neither did my dad. Only when they were ageing did the glasses rear their shiny heads. I guess that’s my fate too, simply ageing eyes. Or else it could be the sheer amount of time I’ve spent in my life looking through computer screens and now mobile screens, straining to check sentences and paragraphs for faux pas and misused apostrophes.
Anyway, the damage is done and there’s no point crying over watery eyes, or something. My life will be one in which glasses rule, and I must be sure to remember my subjugation. It’s humbling to think that my life is ruled by a tiny patch of transparent film that floats on my iris; a little lord of light, literally. But it’s a sacrifice that must be made and bore with humility. For I’m lucky still, that I can see at all.
— Christina Curran is freelance journalist based in Northern Ireland.