When I was a young kid, my mother used to make me do the right deeds by reminding me of a certain virtue; a virtue that I never knew would come back to me. She told me that a face is a reflection of one’s inner self. It is the outsourcing point of the energy that you develop within. She wasn’t a psychologist nor a face reader, but it kept me in check. Throughout though, I never understood what she meant.
And as is avoidable, I grew up. I developed my own set of beliefs. I turned materialistic faster than I could comprehend the barrage of emotions that had started to develop within me. Believe it or not, your reality alone does not contribute to your future reality; you are simultaneously governed by realities that you might have never met.
A theory that was consciously ingrained in me travelled to my unconscious and then got lost midway before it could reach my subconscious. That is the problem with habits. They always need extra attention to develop or deteriorate.
Well, it did come back to my conscious again. A few years too late but better late than never. I had already been past that age where you transform from being a stupid rebel fighting for your individuality to becoming an individual (although that is debatable since you end up choosing an ideology of others). A human, made up of rectified/regrettable mistakes and committed towards flaws, I had entered a professional workspace of long relentless hours and an attitude directed towards success unless the day when success merged with failure. A floor below mine at the cafeteria, I saw this person. Not too hard to describe, but I won’t. She sat across from my table. Alone. And suddenly, the blockage between the unconscious and subconscious decided to clear up by thrusting the thought back to my conscious.
Was she the one that my mother was referring to? But that can’t be because they have never met. So that’s off the table. Or maybe this was the idea of individuality: finding your own definition of perfection. “Yes, that’s it”, I thought when I deciphered the code. Her face reflected stability; stability that was in so much abundance that any nearing reality could stabilise by merging it with hers. This was the first time I was experiencing what I was taught; I had only practised it before.
And thus began a journey. A journey that happened naturally due to the desire for the satiation of hunger. A desire for stability, the satiation of a philosophy and a hunger for perfection. The cafeteria was the only place to eat for both of us. A floor below mine, it became a subconscious meeting point. A formal acknowledgement of each other’s existence entered our reality—just a wee smile when we unintentionally exchanged glances. Every movement of hers was a corroboration. Movements that shouldn’t find a mention here.
There was a catch, though, like every other story. I am a human. And there is one thing that all humans do, which is that they judge. So do I. And me being the human was the catch. We never spoke. To this date, we haven’t. I never made an effort to do that, and neither did she. Maybe she thought what I was thinking even to this day.
There is an inherent ego. An ego that we satisfy every day through people around us. It breaks at times, but we develop a stronger one. The ego forces us to have an opinion. About people through our narrow telescopes. We define them in our own way and want them to bend their reality to resonate with ours—likewise expectations from the other side. The question is, if you take out a part of perfection, would it continue to be the same perfection? Just like the ship of Theseus.
She was my idea of perfection. A vibe that she was, could have easily been decimated with my incapacity to let go off my ego. A question that kept bugging me at that time and probably her as well—because neither of us made an effort to talk. The success of knowing about each other might have been the failure of the relationship that we were sharing. There were times when she’d pretend to look away when I looked towards her. I did the same.
Similar ideologies probably drove us; life was coming a full circle. The days went by, and then one day, she wasn’t there. Perhaps on a holiday because the sun was out and you hardly get sun in the city where I live. A month went by, and she still wasn’t there. Not hard to conclude what happened. She had left, and I do not even remember the last time we were together on that floor passing by each other holding our trays in our hand and greeting the vibes that we were for each other.
It could have been that she never thought on similar lines, but I don’t want to deviate from my perfection because that is what I had found: my take on what perfection is. I do not strive to be like her and compare other realities with her. That would be unfair. It is an answer to a problem that I never knew needed to be solved. And to top it all, with all the evidence supporting the argument, that extra thrust was exerted for a thought to become a behaviour. However, since the journey was so unadulterated, the acknowledgement of my subconscious has been in place.