On reflections

You win some, you lose some. Isn’t that what they say? A contrivance of cosmic balance. So that you don’t get upset and wonder why. This is the way things are supposed to be. It was or was not meant to be. 

We have an expression in Greek which says: “κάθε εμπόδιο για καλό”, meaning “every obstacle [appears] for [a] good [reason]. We always see a half-full glass, even when it’s full of nails, even when we define the event as an obstacle, for we are certain it was meant to be so that something worse will not. Regardless of its seeming absurdity, I have found this saying to be true more often than I’d like to admit.

It is now well past midnight, the wee hours of the 21st of July, and as one of my superpowers is emotional time travel, I can’t help but think back to this exact day two years ago. It was one of the strangest and loneliest days I have ever experienced. I think I even have a polaroid picture I took of myself on that day; that was the mark I knew it would leave. Thinking about it now, what I felt makes much more sense at this very moment than it did when I actually felt it. I couldn’t place it, I couldn’t fathom it, let alone understand it. I attributed it to whatever construct was already familiar to me, and erroneously allowed it to morph around that. Unsurprisingly, one year later, that is, one year ago, it was strangling me because I had misconstrued it.

I am only now connecting the dots as I write. I am psychoanalysing my past selves in an effort to further appreciate my current reflection. 

I have faced quite a few obstacles this past year; I struggled with some, overcame others, and was almost obliterated by a few. I can’t tell you if every one of them was a blessing in disguise, but they sure as hell left their mark, and they undoubtedly taught me things I didn’t necessarily need to know. The most important insight I got, however, and for that I will forever be grateful, was into me.

My mirrors had always always faced outwards, reflecting the way others wished to see me. Essentially they were looking at themselves; how they always longed to be seen, and I was, more often than not, invisible. I believe that on that day I began, very slowly, and subconsciously at first, to turn them. A little less than a year ago they had turned halfway, leaving the doorways completely open for me to see. I cried out at what I witnessed. I tore my heart into tiny little pieces, knowing the only way I could go on is to stitch it back together from the beginning with the threads I had weaved out of my choices, inactions, and desires. 

Today I find myself looking at a circle of see-through mirrors whose projection of the outside world does not hinder my own. I am part of what I set eyes upon, I do not merely observe. I am even part of my obstacles; but they too, are for good. 

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