My Broken Mirror

The day is normal. I wake up, walk to my bathroom in a state of post-sleep and the first thing I do, or I see is me...in the mirror. 

There is a time when you finally come to terms with the fakeness of everything around you: people, places, beliefs, words, emotions, smiles and tears and you realize that you have been living a bogus life so far. This moment of madness or enlightenment may strike a person anytime, anywhere. The person becomes aware of his self and shuns away the world and its allies. This moment struck me recently, or was I stricken by the moment? I feel empty, empty of life, empty of feelings, empty of comprehension. I don’t understand myself or I do not wish to understand. This inner turmoil is creating a literal hurly burly of feelings inside me. I want to express myself; I want to ‘vomit’ every single residue of this dilemma. But I fear…I fear myself, I fear the world, I fear being questioned, I fear being misunderstood, I fear being eyed with suspicion.  What writing was for me earlier, it no more is now. I fear writing. I fear voicing out my opinions and my feelings, for fear of rejection, for fear of manipulation. This world is too cruel, too selfish, and too busy to listen to you. And yeah, I fear being left out unheard. But I have to write. This is the only way I can empty myself. I observe these days; I am lost in my own complicated world. What made me into such a person? Was I always like this? Maybe the change happened in me aeons ago, but it is now that I am facing it. Is it the degree that I am studying at the University made me into such a person? What kind of a person I have become? What kind of a person I was initially? Questions, questions and questions! But, no answers! Are there really no answers, or is it that I am too impure to see them? Education purged the simplicity in me. I am no more the person I was. I think too much, I analyze way too much, I question every petty and stupid thing. Feelings are rendered nude with scrutiny. Words are powered with Standardization. I hate making grammatical mistakes. I am irritated when I hear or see a grammatical error and until I do not correct it, I am not at ease with myself.  Studying, studying and studying all day, all night. For what purpose? I don’t know. Well, I do. I am supposedly studying ‘so hard’ because I want to work and earn money. Money, the nucleus of modern life. Am I happy with what I am doing? Yes! No! Maybe! Am I happy because I am at ease with myself in the midst of my friends? Am I happy because I am able to construct a secure identity of myself, at home and at University? But what am I in my private sphere, away from home, away from class? What am I? Who am I? Why this sudden urge to question everything around me? And if I had to question, then why writing it down? Am I writing because I want people to listen to me? Is there anyone on earth who listens to me? If there is, does that person understand me? Why do I expect that my listener understands me? Why should he/she listen to me anyway? Questions, questions and questions! No Fucking answers!

The day is normal. I wake up, walk to my bathroom in a state of post-sleep and the first thing I do, or I see is me. The 'me' is unusual. I see many 'me(s)'. The mirror is broken. I see myself in the hundred of pieces of mirror shattered into smithereens. Everytime...it is a new 'me' A new 'me' in every broken mirror.