The Game of Shadows
David was sitting on a bench just outside an elegant fashion store in a busy mall. He was a burly man, tall, with large hands marked by hard work and sweat. He wore jeans and a red hoodie, his head shaved to cover his receding hairline. Originally from Canada, he had left his country for a promising job opportunity in the construction industry. He met Susan at an Alcoholics Anonymous meeting, where she became his sponsor, helping him through a difficult time in his life.
David and Susan lived in a quiet residential neighborhood in a small town, not far from Susan’s metropolitan origin. They had a house that David had bought at a bargain price, given its poor initial condition. However, with dedication, he had completely renovated it, turning it into a cozy refuge. They loved animals and had a black and white Border Collie that they adored.
With his AirPods in, David was listening distractedly to the audio of various videos playing on his iPhone screen. Every now and then, he glanced up to check on Susan, who was moving from one rack to another in search of the perfect item, possibly on sale. Through the store window, she occasionally showed him a T-shirt, smiling for his approval. To make her happy, David responded with a half-hearted smile of encouragement.
That morning, David had been to see his lawyer to discuss a strategy for obtaining significant compensation. A few months earlier, a car accident had caused him serious physical problems. After the meeting, he had stopped by a small café and ordered a coffee. While he distractedly observed the other customers, fearing he might run into a familiar face, he didn’t recognize anyone. He called Susan to let her know the appointment had ended earlier than expected and then got into his newly repaired car to join her. He had promised her a shopping day at the mall, and she had been looking forward to it.
David was nervous and craving a drink, but he was trying to hide his withdrawal symptoms. He couldn’t think of anything else and scolded himself for not having had a drink at the café. No one he knew was there; it would have been a secret between him and the barista. He kept scrolling distractedly through videos on his iPhone, thoughtful, without really paying attention to what was on the screen.
Meanwhile, Susan had finished her shopping. She was happy with bags full of new clothes. She had spent $498, taking advantage of the discounts to score great deals. David got up and, with a loving smile, listened attentively as Susan told him all about it. She talked about how disappointed she was not to find jeans in her size, how excited she was about buying a sweater in her favorite color, and how she couldn’t wait to show him how great the new shoes looked on her.
Together, they walked away and headed towards the exit.
Everything you’ve read so far is fiction. It’s just the product of a little game I play while people-watching. I did see a man sitting on a bench in front of a trendy store in a mall, and there was indeed a woman inside the store. But I don’t know who they are, what their names are, what lives they’ve led, or why they were there.
When I find myself in a crowd, I like to observe people and imagine who they are, giving them a name, a story, a past. But the impressions I get are just snapshots — moments where I focus on certain details that spark my imagination. And yet, this whole exercise is flawed.
It doesn’t matter what people think of you when they see you sad, disappointed, happy, or depressed.
An impression doesn’t define who you are.
“My current self is not my absolute self.”
I want to clarify that the story just told is a simple exercise of imagination, aimed at raising awareness about not identifying exclusively with one’s current state. Emotions and experiences from a single moment do not define who we are in our entirety. However, I want to emphasize that when I talk about my life in my writings, every single detail is absolutely true. Those parts are not products of imagination; they recount authentic and significant moments from my personal experience.
