I have this powerhouse in my head that, actually everyone has. This powerhouse has infinite connections. These connections are so powerful that they dictate each and every action and thought of mine, and have been for the last seventeen years. It is clear that it is not one's face or appearance that allows for identity formation, rather it is one's mind; the beliefs, feelings, actions, and behavior of each individual determines her identity. It is the invisible powerhouse that determines the type of person one is. Yet, judgment of each and every person is determined by a person's appearance. Why? First of all, the mind is invisible without surgery, so only the results of the connections can be seen. I find that a person's mind is always reflected in how a person projects herself to others. I can see it in a person's eyes and hands. Eyes show a person's intelligence, and thought. Hands show a person's creativity, and work.

As for me, my eyes do not reflect much, but the expressions of my eyes reflect me. When I look at a math problem, my eyes look up trying to look at my brain while it relays how to do the problem step-by-step. Then when my hands have finally relayed my powerhouse's message, wrinkles appear on the side of my eyes and this really small twinkle appears in the corner of my iris displaying my happiness, if the problem required several steps, or if I found an easier and quicker way to do the problem. Then during dance class, my eyes grow, they follow each and every movement of my hands like my eyes are the puppets and my hands, the holder of the string. Then my pupils contract and I let my body follow the movements it already knows, similar to when I draw or paint. These eyes inherit their intrinsic form with slight wrinkles, pupils slightly dilated, and the dark brown iris merely translucent mirrors, relaying a single message outward, the one reflecting the image already in my head while my hands use a tool to transfer the image onto something tangible.

My hands are magnets, in every sense of the word, though, unfortunately, they do not attract metal. These phalanges are always moving. A paper is never safe if there is a writing utensil in between these clean-paper murderers. These hands not only attract pencils, they attract paint, lead, white-out, nail polish, everything that can possibly make these hands any more colorful. Somehow these hands are the exception to my obsession with both neatness and cleanliness. Littered with lines, my palms reflect their constant use; with the paint or lead smudges, depending on what I'm currently transferring on a canvas, my fingers are simultaneously colored as my piece continues. But my hands can transform even without color, they can go from representing a peacock's head to a flower and even the eye. Hands accompany the rest of my body, aiding my expressive eyes, while it moves in dance. Emphasizing certain parts of the songs, relaying the lyrics. Hands show the agility of a dancer and remains of the colors show the preoccupation of the owner with her hands to create and transfer images.

First impressions mean everything, and in this day and age where time is fleeting, these initial meetings determine how a person is remembered, even though it is decreed that we must not judge a book by its cover. After meeting countless people at gatherings, competitions, volunteering, work, I have realized that the first image can truly relay a personality effectively. The eyes, and their expressions show either deep or shallow waters; hands display ethics and creativity. Together they display the connections in the powerhouse. Expressive eyes show passion while colorful hands show creativity; together a balance is maintained. A person's mind is always reflected in her eyes and hands, and I am no exception.