Tinted Six of One

Go to the nearest window. Look out for a full minute. Write about what you saw.

Prompt taken from the 365 days of Writing Prompts by dailypost.wordpress.com

I’m in luck because I’m currently facing one right now.

No, scratch that. I can only make out what I assume is blurry tree trunks out of the dark. Oh, and a lamp stand somewhere behind the tall slender trunks, and cars passing by occasionally. There seems to be nothing special really.

Rather than a clear view of the hill supposedly where this cafe is located, the dark outside makes the window reflect what is inside the cafe I am in. I see duplicates of the signboard placed just conveniently at the glass window near the stairs. There is also multi-color shadows of the cushions, where a couple was just sitting on the other side of the room–I reckon it is hard to be productive as, in a glance, they seem to be just bickering in a sickly sweet kind of way. The whole room with its tiny warm lights are projected through the window. All echoes in double vision. And finally, there is this specky git, her hair worn in a hasty ponytail, earphones in tact, sipping a mug of coffee–that’s my own reflection, by the way. Also in double vision.

Do pardon my brain as it has thrown out any memories of high school physics for saying this: Nevermind the obviously prosaic scientific accuracy of this statement, it still intrigues me that the darkness of the night makes the glass windows function as a huge mirror instead as it shows what is inside the room more clearly than what is actually outside. This is my cue to philosophize, as always.

It is interesting to entertain the thought that the dark seem to assist the glass to reflect light, thus one may study a rebounded relic of oneself. Yet without it, one can see out of any form of confinement, perhaps expanding one’s horizon and being less focused on contemplating about oneself. Enter the pressing, yet frivolous metaphor of one’s identity; on whether it is shaped through the projection of one’s sense of self to the world, or the other way round, when the other is the basis of the reference. What does it entail, one may ask? Probably something about one’s egocentric tendencies, or sensitivity of the judgment of others.

Over time, is it no longer either of the two options or one’s instinctive behavior that partially defines a person, but rather how one simultaneously utilize both to create or recreate themselves?

There you go. Reflections on the fogged-glass-turned-mirror distorted to a reflective examination of human character.

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