Reflections #1: Through the Looking Glass

So. I am writing a blog. I used to have one, but when I re-read it, I thought I sounded so stupid that I just left it to rot, hoping that the odour of my ridiculousness wouldn't come blasting towards me.

I sound so fake and unnatural. Perhaps, this is just another part of me, the part that likes theatrics.Sometimes, I like to make faces in the mirror, trying to arrange my features in the strangest, most unnatural way.And yet, my spastic, strange faces only show up when I'm taking photos and not really caring about how I look. Do you know, how it feels like to look into the mirror- just a precursory glance while going out of the room- and not recognising the face inside for a split of a split-second (is there even such a thing?). It is only after that , that we realise it is ourselves.

I have also wondered, many times, how it would be like to live in a house full of mirrors. Not the kind in almost everybody's music videos, but literally a house with walls made of mirrors. That would really be the Looking glass house. If I were to live in that sort of house, the sense of loneliness, of heightened self-consciousness would probably make me forget who I really am. It does not really make sense-what I say. I shall try to elaborate. If you were to see yourself, everywhere, everyday, would you know as you stare at all your different selves in the mirrors, which was the real you? Oh the irony.

Now, we come back to reality. I am writing this blog, to reflect on myself and on others. I do not know myself, even if I pretend to fit myself into a stereotype, into a personality type etc. How could I understand others, if I cannot even fully understand myself? Besides, how many people would bare their hearts? Who, that is more mature, more intelligent, more wise (wiser) than me, would not fear being hurt? What I see, what I infer, it is only from observing what is in the mirror. I have not seen the truth. I have not gone through the Looking Glass. But yet,who except for Alice, has?

When I go back to read what I have written, I hope to see myself, from someone else's perspective, a new perspective. Whether, what I see, shall be real, or fake, or a lie stemming from truth, or a truth mixed with lies,or a disillusion-it does not matter. To be vain is to be imperfect. If I am vain, so shall it be.

We all need our five minutes of melodrama. Evidently, some of us need more than that. But we must always come back, to whiter-than-white reality, because this is where we belong.