I was combing my hair in front of the mirror, my hair gathered in my left hand over my right shoulder. Suddenly, I noticed and stared. Standing in front of me was a young woman. I had seen her picture hanging in my grandfather's house, wearing a décolletage dress, her hair cascading over her right shoulder. She was so beautiful that her black and white image was imprinted on my soul. Since I saw myself in my mother's mirror, I have not doubted or felt grateful if someone said: You are beautiful. Indeed, "I am beautiful... because I look like my mother."

