I just re-watched Memoirs of a Geisha (sorry, I haven't read the book yet) and was inspired to write this reflective piece. Chiyo/ Sayuri thinks on what it is to become a geisha and how she has changed. Oh, I'm not sure if danna is the right word, but it was the best I could catch from the movie. I meant patron at any rate. Please drop me a review when you're finished, I'm not sure if I expressed the feelings of this movie as well as I had hoped. Enjoy!
Mirrored Dreams
Becoming this has been my dream ever since I met him on the bridge that day. How I longed to be one of the women at his side; so refined; so exquisite. I was entranced by dreams of an existence so ethereal.
But we are not allowed to dream, are we?
Still, I treasured that moment, tucked it away in my heart, next to his handkerchief. Safe. Secret. Hidden. That's what we are. Our faces we paint to mask our real selves. To hide the feelings we hold inside. We are artists; perfection in human form.
As I don the many layers of my kimono, I do the same inside. Cover that little girl I once was, secret her away in that place I hold sacred. Push her to the back; keep her under all those layers, seal her off with my obi until I can next let her free.
Maybe if I lock her in that safe haven I won't see her shake her head, wondering what happened.
Makeup is applied, that mask I tie on once more. Tighter; it can not come loose. I finger the false saccura blossoms that decorate my hair, likening them to what I have made myself. I am preserved; elegance frozen in time.
How many have wanted this? The fame, the danna… Is it really worth it? Losing who you are, losing ethics, losing free will. What is there to desire? Beauty? Admiration? Surely those can be gained another way. Having to cut off what I have become from who I really am; it seems too harsh a price.
No, we are allowed to dream, but we can never see our dreams made real.
I almost wish I had never met him that day. Never seen those women so graceful, for this is what I have become. An illusion of perfection that can not be achieved. A false image.
Quick, while the servants are not looking; I slide the handkerchief in between the folds of my garment, locking away the last bit of who I once was in that guarded box. Turning to the mirror, there are several words that come close to a match of what I see – vision, mirage, falsehood – but only one truly fits.
I am a geisha.