By Psykhe F. Azarraga
You know those moments when you take a quick mirror selfie—not because you’re feeling cute, but because you want to check if your hair clip matches your dress? That’s exactly what I was doing.
The room was dim and quiet, the kind of light that softens everything. I had just turned slightly, phone still in hand, when I paused. There was the mirror. There was me. So I clicked.
One photo. No angles. No second try. And later, when I looked at it again, I thought, Hey… I look kind of talikod-genic.
Not photogenic—talikod-genic. It’s a word I didn’t invent (I’m not sure who did), but it deserves more airtime.
From the Hiligaynon word likod (back), talikod-genic somehow became the art of looking good from behind. It’s the quiet glam of a mirror-caught back view—candid, untouched, unconcerned.
There I was in that photo. Blue checkered dress—soft cotton, no structure, just ease. My hair pulled up in a loose twist, held together by a scrunchie that had seen better days. My continuous glucose monitor sat quietly on my arm, a small white circle—visible, unremarkable. A part of me. Nothing performative, nothing hidden. Just one of the many things that keep me going.
In the mirror, you could also see my phone—reflected again in the phone screen, which caught the mirror, which caught me. A loop. No edits, no drama. Just me, behind me, looking at me. And it made me pause.
We fuss over front-facing things—smiles, angles, filters. We practice looking composed. We check if we’re glowing. But that photo reminded me: the back view? It’s where you catch your truest self. Shoulders relaxed. Arms at rest. Clothes falling where they may. A moment with no audience. That’s when something honest shows up.
But it also made me think: when your back is turned, that’s when life quietly happens without your input. People making decisions. Conversations shifting. Things moving forward—or unraveling—while you’re facing something else. You don’t always see what’s falling apart or coming together. And sometimes, you can’t do anything about it—even if you wanted to.
You don’t always know who’s got your back—or who’s already turning theirs.
You can’t always watch over the people you love. Things happen in that unseen space behind you: messes, miracles, misunderstandings, grace. And yet—somehow—you keep going.
We don’t walk around carrying mirrors. We don’t live life in self-view. Most of the time, we’re just trying to remember where we left the charger, wondering if we locked the door, or standing mid-step in front of a mirror with twelve things still left to do.
And still—we shine.
Talikod-genic isn’t about vanity. It’s about the version of you that sneaks into the frame when you’re not even paying attention. It’s about trusting that even when you’re not facing everything, there’s still beauty, still dignity, still strength in you.
You might be facing life head-on, but from behind, you’re still glowing. Because sometimes, the most beautiful parts of you are the ones you never think to look at.
