Looking into the mirror the other day I wondered amusingly who was that old woman staring back at me. Those drooping creases around her mouth, deep crow's-feet around her eyes, a lack of lustre and suppleness in the cheeks, the grey hair! I find ageing to be a very unsettling process, as it is so very relative and extremely exponential. It sneaks upon us, comes out of nowhere and is unstoppable. Yet the absolute worst thing about this inevitable physical decline must be the fact that it does not at all reflect the age we feel inside. At times I entertain the idea of fixing it. I try to pull the skin on my face back occasionally just for a moment in order to revisit the looks of my past. But eventually I just giggle and realise that I would rather be wrinkled as a dried up raisin, being genuine through and through than be perfectly artificial and superficial. After all, I have found that the very old cliché of beauty lying within is true.