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I found myself indulging in the fantasy of experiencing someone else’s life. Imagining the voyage of my aspirations, the journey of becoming my ideal self, was entirely enchanting. As I imagined the process of metamorphosis, a sensation of excitement overcame my senses. My desire to achieve the perfect embodiment of my personality had to be satisfied at any cost.
My hatred for the dull chaos that was my identity ran deep, reaching my roots and the essence of my unadorned being. I held onto the euphoric excitement of moulding my personality into a mirror of another entity as I kept on walking, reaching the door that would ultimately allow me to thrive.
An overwhelming sensation of liberation and awe for the forthcoming journey overcame me. The potential outcomes were infinite, and I was prepared to relinquish my former self and adopt an entirely new identity.
“The Room,”, the place in which all transformations took place, was gloomy and barely illuminated, yet I could decipher the numerous mirrors placed along the four walls. I strode forward, my steps echoing into the atmosphere, discerning the ubiquity of destiny imbuing itself into my fate. Each and every mirror disclosed a somewhat alternative body from the one I occupied. An alternative that could become my reality. I existed, yet I did not live. My existence was nothing but an utterly outrageous disgrace. I wanted to become someone else, to feel and think differently, to embody a much more interesting persona.
Adrenaline surged through my veins, as my hand reached a particular corner of a small mirror: My fingers delicately brushed against the surface, and I felt ecstatic. A dazzling light took me in, transporting me through a parallel universe. I glanced over my reflection, allowing the sudden giddiness to settle in: I, indeed, was an entirely different person. My joyous laugh vibrated against my beating heart. The hate had suddenly been replaced with something much more meaningful: need. I craved this feeling. I wanted to do it again.
Stepping closer to another mirror, I stared directly into the eyes of the individual I was about to become. I took on yet another personality, then another, in a never-ending spiral that fuelled my obsession.
My eyes changed colour, my hair altered, and my voice became completely unrecognisable each time. I continued to do so until I became lost. Until I lost track of how many personalities were annihilated by my determination to change.
Suddenly, “The Room” changed drastically. Its walls were demolished, and all but one of its mirrors were shattered. Slowly walking toward it, a slim figure presented itself in front of me. Its voice was loud and everlasting: “Take off my disguise! I am suppressing who I was inside”, translating the words that could not have been spoken: With every change, we lost a bit of ourselves. The need to become different stripped us of any identity. It took away our true selves.
Who had I become? Who was I? I had no clue. I was alone again in a universe where the road of defining my own person was deemed impossible. I wanted to change, to transform, to become unrecognisable. Yet, at what cost? I had lost myself in the never-ending demand to alter my existence. Alone again, wanting to be reminded of what I am, what I was. Except I do not know if I can be alone again.
What I thought would have been the means of reaching harmony with my dream self proved to be disastrous. The journey of my dreams led to a transformative experience, wherein my sense of individuality was relinquished.
