When I was little, I always hoped I would get glasses. I used to believe that somehow my vision would diminish enough for me to wear them, that my braces could match the lenses perched on my nose. Only with glasses, I thought, could I truly see who I wanted to become. Perhaps then, I could see the future clearly.
I remember lying at appointments, purposely mixing up my D’s and O’s, hoping to trick the doctor into prescribing lenses. But the lies never worked. In time, life gave me glasses anyway, and now, how I wish I could go back to seeing letters clearly. No amount of lying can retrieve the vision I’ve lost.
My frames have changed four times. The first pair was purple; after that, they remained a consistent shade of brown and cream. When my world was enclosed in purple, I believed I could see my future clearly. But those lenses soon reflected only the glow of screens when the pandemic hit, and my world shrank to four walls. The same walls I meant to paint, wishing it would fix something, make it stick to the cement. I watched my future slip from my grasp, and I let it.
Eventually, I changed my prescription. My new frames, in shades of brown, helped me see clearly again, but this time, my vision filled with college applications. I started wearing them less and less. My future was there, but I couldn’t bear to look at it, at the possibility of failure that haunted me. Each time I took my glasses off and tossed them into my bag, they grew more scratched, waiting for the moment I’d accept that my future needed to be faced, not feared.
When I came to Hopkins, I changed my prescription once more. For the first time in years, I wore my glasses consistently. I even adjusted parts of my personality to fit in with others. But a few months in, I realized my prescription was wrong. The headaches and the unease within me were signs that I was failing to look my future in the eye. I was staring at the ground instead, letting my insecurities walk all over me.
So, I stopped wearing them again. I squinted in classrooms, excusing my fears by saying I didn’t have my glasses, even though they were right there in my bag. I walked across campus without them, sacrificing the chance to enjoy the beautiful trees lining the walkways. Sometimes, I left them off just to avoid saying hello, afraid people could see right through me.
They say the eyes are the windows to the soul. If that’s true, then glasses must be the enhancers. When I wore mine, it felt like people could see that I wasn’t being honest with myself, and that terrified me. It was frightening to live a life of hiding and not seeing.
I was diagnosed with myopia and astigmatism; I see the world in lines, blurs and confusion. Only now do I realize that I’ve been seeing my future in the same way, unfocused, distorted. The lies I told myself about who I was and what I needed only clouded my vision further.
I still have an inner debate every morning about whether to wear my glasses. But as my future approaches and the pressure builds, I’m beginning to understand that wearing them is the best choice. Even if they get scratched, they still allow me to see ahead, to look toward a future I can finally be proud of.
Johnalys Ferrer is a junior from Arecibo, Puerto Rico studying Medicine, Science and the Humanities. Her column explores how culture, identity and the fight to belong live on, reminding us that heritage is not only remembered but echoed daily.
