(DE) CONSTRUCTION OF IDENTITY
CONSTRUCTION
I EXIST! I EXIST! I EXIST!
There was a small room at the corner of the house. At the corner of
the room was a mirror. The mirror was a bit shady and so was the
reflection. The strange thing about those two was that the mirror and
the reflection knew each other very well, but they were both strangers
to each other. Now how is that possible? The strangers met but never
fully acknowledged each other. The constant struggle was that they were
always torn apart. It can be possible. Yes it is possible. The only thing
that was common in them was that they both were shady and both a bit
broken. The mirror in its appearance! The reflection in its aura!
This mirror was probably the only place where the reflection did not
seek acceptance, because it knew that there is no pretention. No lies.
The mirror reflects whatever’s in front of it. But there was a farce.
A big, sad, tragic farce! Even though the mirror never laughed at the
shattered, lost, “ugly”, “failing” and hopeless reflection, the reflection
laughed at the mirror. It was a cacophonic, melancholic and lethargic
laugh which resonated in the small room that always remained dark.
It laughed till tears adorned the little cracks in between the broken
image of the mirror. But why did it laugh? Why was darkness the
only thing that was forced and allowed in the little room? Sometimes
when the drapes moved a little bit, a thin ray of light would peek
through the room. Then the mirror lost its reflection as the reflection
rushed towards the windows to shut down the drapes very carefully;
so that the darkness in the room didn’t feel betrayed by the light
coming in and taking its place. Reflection knew how badly betrayal
can put scars. It couldn’t scar the only thing, the thing that never left
it alone. Darkness! The mirror had scars, the reflection had scars, and
the memory of light had scars. It couldn’t afford to have any more.
Reflection made sure that the light did not obstruct its image in the
mirror by boasting the light’s own beauty. It tried to hide the room
from the scorching brightness because it had to stop being used to the
warmth that the light brought with it.
But wait! Without light, how did the mirror reflect? How did the
reflection take its form in the mirror? How did they get to know each
other? Ah! What a mystery right? The reflection had light in itself! It
was very little, quite faded but it still had some left in it. That is what
made it laugh. No matter how much darkness crept around it, no
matter how hard the reflection tried not to let light inside its deep,
dark world, still there was light. But the reflection could not find
where the light was coming from. It laughed in wonder. But soon it
realized that nothing could ever take away the light that it still had
somewhere in itself. The mirror still remained a projection of the
reflection’s beautiful image. But it could not but laugh with a painful
throb in its heart, whenever it looked at the mirror. They both knew
each other but each time they looked at each other they felt like they
didn’t recognize each other. It thought that if the mirror can see its
light and if it allows the light to fall on it and reflect the beauty that
it has, then why can’t anyone outside that dark, small closed room
see it? Why can’t it see its existence in anyone’s eyes? Why don’t
they reflect anything, as if it never existed and as if it’s so negligible
and meaningless that it could not stand a chance to be someone or
something in someone’s eyes even in such scorching light outside?
The reflection slowly started to feel afraid. The laughter became less.
It started to feel that this light, this little light that it was still left with,
might fade away soon. Then the only thing that showed it the image of
itself will show what their eyes show. Nothing! Nothingness! Failure!
Despair! Ugliness! The mirror never lied to it. It always showed the
reality. But could it produce the light? Or was the mirror giving the
light? Was the mirror giving existence to the reflection? No! The light
was something that the mirror used, to remove the dark veil that it had
so that it could reveal the image. The light! The light was something
that came from the reflection. The light was something it itself
bestowed on the mirror. The mirror could not understand sometimes
why the reflection kept the room dark. Maybe because the light failed
to give its existence outside its dark world? The mirror could not
understand why the reflection was never happy of what the mirror
projected although it only showed what it had in front of it. Is the
mirror really the bully? Or is it the reflection that was bullying itself ?
The mirror has no power. The power is given to it. Then the reflection
thought, “Wait! If I lose the light that I have now, the mirror will not
project my image. But I will be still standing here. I will still exist. I will
feel my arms, my legs, my stupid stomping heart, the throbbing veins
and the aching head. I exist. I exist. I exist. I exist in my pain, I exist
in all that has gone in vain, I exist in light, I exist in my fight, I exist
in the dark and I exist in all the battles that I embark. I exist in my
shame, I exist even in the humiliation of being called lame. I exist in
my failures, I exist in all those undeserved misbehaviors, I exist in the
loneliness, I exist in the hopelessness, I exist in the sound and in the
silence of the sounds. I exist outside this small room, I exist inside this
small room, I exist in each and every little corner of this small room.
I encompass space. I encompass time. I use my sight, I smell the fear,
I taste my tears and fights, I breathe the air. I feel the pain, I sense
the filthy heavy chains. I sense I sense I sense and I sense. I exist. I
exist. I exist. I exist even in the nothingness; I exist even in the quick
judging gaze. I exist when they point at me, I exist when they laugh at
me, I still exist when they don’t look at me. I have the light. I had it all
along. I was the bully and I was the one thinking it all wrong. I exist in
myself and I exist in my own light. I exist in this mirror, because the
mirror is my eyes. The mirror is what I believe in, the mirror is what
I see, because my eyes see the “me” that those other eyes can’t see. I
exist. I exist. I exist; in my beauty, in my soul, in my senses and in my
thoughts. I exist.
CADAVER IN THE EYES
“Did you look at those eyes?” “Oh Lord yes!”
I was surprised to see everyone like that. They were talking and
screaming about someone. Everyone ran away from someone or
something. They said that they saw “something heinous”, “something
disastrous”. I thought of asking the whole issue to a lady who was
standing near the crowd, but before I could ask anything she ran away
too. I told her “Oh no no no! Don’t go don’t go. Don’t... Wait . . .!”
But she ran away. I couldn’t understand what could be in someone’s
eyes that made the whole town run and scream in terror.
I could understand that the house where people gathered together
with frowned look in their eyes was that someone or something’s
house. Cramped crowd, gossiping heads, crooked eyebrows and
shocked eyes were all I could see.
“What’s going on?” I asked. “Shh! Don’t talk so loudly! It might hear
you! Then it will come for you too.” “What? What will come for me?”
“That! He . . . He’s possessed.” “What the hell are you talking about?
There’s no such thing as ghost!” “Shh! It might hear you. Shh . . .” I
couldn’t take this madness anymore so I decided to find the issue by
myself and started walking towards the house of that “it”. “Hey! What
are you doing? Come back! Don’t go. It will...” I didn’t wait for the
mingling heads to finish their sentences and weird logics. I entered the
room, opened the door and there “it” was. I mean there he was sitting
on a big upside down silver pot, with hands on his forehead. I called
him. “Hey!” I didn’t know his name. He didn’t respond. So I touched
his shoulder. He pulled up his chin, but it was too dark to look at his
eyes. So I tried to turn on the lights. I looked at him and at his much
talked about eyes but could see nothing unusual. He asked, “What do
you want?” “I want to see what’s bothering those people so much.”
I answered. “Oh . . . so you want to check if I’m possessed or not?”
“Yes, I mean I don’t’ . . . I can’t see anything that they . . .” “So you
see nothing in my eyes?” “No I don’t.” “Even in the light?” he asked.
“No!” I answered. He again asked, “Even when I’m looking right at
you?” “No.”, I answered. He said, “It’s strange! They say they see it.”
I was perplexed and asked, “What? They see what?” He continued
saying, “And I saw it in the reflection of their eyes too. But when I
look at you, I don’t see it. That’s strange! Who are you?” I answered
saying, “I am new in this town. I came today in the morning and heard
all these noises when I was shifting my furniture in my new home.”
“Oh . . .that’s why . . . Go and call someone from the crowd you’ll see
what they see.” I was confused. I told him that they are afraid. Then he
said, “Don’t call any children.” I asked him, “Why are they too afraid?”
“No. You will only see the shadow of it in the older eyes. The children
still have to grow up to see what they see.” I was going mad because
of all this drama. I shouted out, “Uggh . . . what are you talking about?
What madness is this? Is this a mad town that I’ve moved into?” I
went out to see if anyone agrees to come with me. But no one wanted
to; except for an old uncle who seemed quite respected in that town.
Everyone told him not to come with me. But he said and I quote
“Quite everyone! Don’t you see he’s new in the town? We need to
welcome him with open arms and open EYES.” Eyes . . . There was
something with eyes and this town. “He NEEDS to see what we
see and we need to help him do that!” So he came with me. He said,
“Look! Look at his eyes.” “I did! I saw nothing!” “Look at me son.
Look very closely in my eyes.” So I did. “Now look at him again. What
do you see?” said the elder one. I gasped, choked for air and put my
hands on my mouth to hold my shriek inside the heart that was as
if bursting out all the blood that it stopped pumping or that it over
pumped from the fear that I held in my stomach which was holding
all the sickness that was about to come out through my mouth along
with the shriek. I saw it. I finally saw it. A cadaver! His own cadaver! I
said, “What the hell is this? How do I see this now?” The old one got
out as if he accomplished some great work of legacy! The “it” looked
at me wih hopeless eyes and a rotting cadaver in his eyes asking to be
cremated but left to be eaten by vultures and worms. But soon the
cadaver in his eyes vanished. I looked at him, clearing my eyes again
and again but the cadaver was disappearing again and again. “What
is this madness?” I said. He said “Don’t worry . . . it will come back
again. You need eyes for that.” Eyes eyes eyes. What is it with you
people and eyes? What eyes?” “Don’t worry. You’ll get them soon.
They’ll give them to you. And if your eyes aren’t like theirs? If you
cannot be one of them? Then be prepared.” “Prepared for what?”
I asked. “To be shrieked at. To be looked at like I’m being looked at
now.”
I got everything and I ran as fast as I could and left the town.
I never believed in ghosts before that day, but I do now. And from
that day I constantly look at the mirror to see if I have that ghost
inside me. If im possessed too! Because I remember what he said,
“You might get it too. Be prepared. To be shrieked at. To be looked at
like I’m being looked at now.” So now when I look at the mirror I see
that old man and I keep finding myself saying, “I don’t want to be a
cadaver . . . but I don’t want to be like you too . . .”
I knew that the cadaver was there because they killed the being in him
long ago. Now they could see it because they wanted to feed on it.
I couldn’t because I didn’t know about it. But somewhere inside me
there was a fear of either being the cadaver or being the one making a
cadaver out of the being!
A SHORT STORY?
I WISH I DIED IN YOUR WOMB.
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