Who is this person who looks back at me when I look into the mirror? He looks a lot like me, but who is he really? Can someone please tell me, “Who is he? Is he friend or foe? And if he is a friend, why can I never see him except when I look into the mirror? Is that his domain? Or, is he a prisoner hopelessly trapped inside the glass surface, never to be set free? Why doesn’t he come and walk beside me so that we can converse together? I know that I have seen him somewhere before, but where?
I awoke this morning to a brand new day. I went through my normal morning routine before leaving home and then headed out the door to face the world. In the course of this day I am sure I encounter some whom I have met before and know quite well, but there will also be others whom I have never met. What about them? Those who know me, know my character and my disposition, but not these others. I wonder how they will perceive me. Do they see the real me or some two-dimensional image of me, as if from the mirror, perceiving only one angle or aspect of my nature. I wonder if I can dare trust letting them come to know me. I try to put my best foot forward at all times and just be myself, but is that really good enough? What if these others do not accept me for who I really am? I will then be left alone to deal with the loneliness of rejection. I want to be me, but I don’t know if I really can. No matter how hard I try, as the day proceeds I may find myself wearing different facades and asking myself anew, “Who am I?” Who? I tell myself that I knew who I was before I left home this morning, or at least I thought I knew. Even that person in the mirror seemed to know who I am, but alas, in such a short period of time I find myself so unsure.
It seems that the world and all of its vacillating and tantalizing images and encounters distort my vision of what is real and what is not. Sometimes I feel lost, befuddled, cold, and empty on the inside. What is happening to me? One minute I am happy and playful, and the next I am somber and melancholy. I find myself wanting this day to just end so that I can go back to the safety of my own domain.
Throughout the day as I walk the streets hurriedly trying to reach my various destinations there seems to be a myriad of snares that I tell myself I must avoid, but some are so enticing that I find myself being drawn toward their jaws of self-destruction. I tell myself that I must not give in. I must be strong lest I fall into evil ways due to a lack of willpower and self-control. I must persevere and press on.
The day is finally over and I begin my trek back home. I finally reach my destination relieved that I was able to make it unscathed, but for some unknown reason there still remains an overwhelming amount of trepidation. Am I alone in this room, I wonder, or is there someone lurking about? There is the mirror hanging on the wall. Dare I look into it again? I take the dare and there looking back at me is the person who was looking back at me before. Who is he? Who?