I gazed at myself in the mirror.

Slowly I looked into my eyes, and out, and trace down the surface of the skin. The skin, stretched so elastically, gently wrapping around what that looks like. Fat perhaps, what is the ideal body fat percentage? 10%? 12%? The numbers that only gods possesses. Feats of Herculean strength.

Then I shook off the thought. What’s inside? I probed gently. Muscles I guess, with tendons. The pulley systems of the biological body. I flexed my fingers. The fingers, of it’s magnificent wonder – the opposable ten that allows us to pull ourselves up a ledge, and wander dexterously across the surface of a keyboard. Such marvel.

But wait a minute. There are blood vessels running through. I imagine the rush of blood gushing through the veins – almost like rush hour in New York or Singapore, where people pump in and others squeeze out. The hemogoblin, the nutrients, the chemicals that keeps us alive. They reach their destination – they get out, and they get useful work done. What are they thinking. Or rather, do they even think?

The heart is like the grand central, sending out these vital fluids through the rest of the body, and up up up into the brain. Distributing them out into thousands of cells. The synapses fires, connections are made, and something happens, although I’m not sure what. As I blink, and look, and think, what are the patterns that are fired. Are they beautiful? Like comets traveling across the night skies in an universe that is infinite. Or at least, expanding.

These thoughts, these emotions, are they delivered by the blood streams up to the brain, where it tries to make sense of it all? I feel the gentle throbbing of the pain from a lingering old injury. Is it trying to tell me something? The stomach rumbles, and I salivate, a little, for it is still early in the morning. My mind wanders away, to the events that happened yesterday, last night – oh what patterns do the synapses generate – I want to see. There it comes, and here it goes.

Then I blinked. And blinked again. The gaze returns to the image on the mirror. I see myself. And suddenly, I don’t really know what my self means anymore.