The Real Face of Envy

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 "Goodnight," the masked man greets at your door, for he has come to pay you a visit. You blithely welcome him with a smile, and as he makes his entry, his true motives are hidden by a ravishing, enticing grin. How innocent you are, for you know not what lays await and as you turn to shut your door, "Hello, I'm Envy" he sharply announces. 

Piercing eyes and tailored, practiced strides instantaneously sweep your landscape, looking for something to compare, looking for something to judge. He will not let you be content, this Mr. Envy, for his greatest accomplishment is to point out a flaw, something to make him believe that he is better than you, a relic to discredit your worth. His slivering tongue now protrudes slowly, and his lips curl upward to reveal his treachery as he asks you about your latest purchase and unknowingly you respond. Then just like that, Envy turns around to face you, nose flaring and he declares "I wanted to get one too, but certainly not in this colour, only the distasteful would agree to buy such." You are shocked.

Then his gaze lingers upon you, following you like a trance as you reach to offer Envy some wine.  "You should really lose some weight," he protests, but he does it so slyly, that you believe it is a joke he tells, and so you laugh, but this time not heartily. Now he goes on to tell you about your friend who looks so splendid, and mocks that this is someone you could never aspire to. You almost believe him, oh, the way he tends to sway you like the wind, to get you to disprove your power as the vibrant being you are. Oh, that Mr. Envy! Why did I open my door?

Every word of Envy's that follows tries to strip you of your worth, piece by piece, until you can bare it no more. The towels in the washroom should have been white, the scent of the air freshener is dull, he does not like the feel of your rug, the plants need water, Jamilla just got her Masters, why are you not yet learning to drive, black goes better with red, you should wear more makeup, the style of your dress is no good. You even catch Him licking his lips at the picture frame that houses the smile of your woman. Would Envy ever dare to cross that line? That is when you scream! "Get the hell out, Envy, get the hell out of my place."

As he reluctantly stands up to depart, you slowly begin to realize the true nature of his face. Since he was masked upon his entry, you never once thought that there was anything to unveil. You see him clearly now. Envy is immaculately ugly, utterly riddled with scars of past offenses committed against the ones before you, who were just as clueless as you. Each line and scar on his face reveals a ghastly trait and you unenthusiastically, count them one by one: pretense above the eye, manipulation under the nose, jealousy in the creases of the forehead, comparison next to the ear, greed adjacent to his lips, scrutiny carved into his cheeks, judgment waiting on his tongue, disdain sitting proudly on his chin. Horrible scars indeed! He departs in fury, unable to swallow your strength in being able to relieve him of his mask. He has never met anyone as formidable as you. 

And so, the next time around that Envy greets you, be sure to never open that door because He will latch his abominable and firm grip of "I want it too" and "Who do you think you are," unto you, and by then it might just be too late. For once Envy consumes you, you become a slave to your master, and the scars on your face will be worse than the ones of him who has taught you. Shall you ever stand against Envy, please, oh please, slam the door in its face. Let it reverberate. Do not let him wade through your spirit, conjuring feelings of comparison, the ones that not only kill joy of others, but robs you of yours too. 

Turn your own face away from the real face of envy.

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