So, “it goes like this, the fourth, the fifth, the minor fall, the major lift.”

It is strange to look at the calm, grown-up adult woman in the mirrors. Is this really me, looking at myself?

Behind, I see the shadow of a 17-year-old girl with flowing blonde hair, blue eyes, and alabaster-colored skin. Is this me too? My shadow.

In this round foyer with a vaulted ceiling echoing with footsteps.

Among white columns and broad staircases with soft carpets.

There used to be a buffet with a lady in a white apron and a white tiara, selling drinks and snacks. And here, a ladies’ room where long lines formed during breaks.

To these, the uppermost rows of the second amphitheater, we were given free entry. The chandelier under the ceiling, resembles a golden submarine, with crystals hanging down like icicles. The stern faces of portraits along the walls in golden leaf frames and the red wine-colored upholstery of the benches.

Flocks of students, laughing and joyfully crossing from one building to another with cellos and violins in hand. And older individuals of the age I am now, walking slowly and talking in low voices.

Somewhere among them – I, seventy years old, with flowing blonde hair, naive and a little bit scared too.

How many times did I see my reflection in these stern mirrors as I ran past?

Now, here is this composed adult woman. (Am I really composed and calm?)

She is trying but can’t remember something so distant that it’s already unclear whether it happened or not.