Sadly, I am all the people I met
A world-patched doll
I have compared myself with every single person I have met. It didn’t start at twenty, nor at seventeen, nor at fourteen. Maybe when I was twelve or ten years old. It started when I was too young to understand what this meant. When my being was still a soft piece of clay, not hardened enough to be put out there into the real world on a shelf and be criticized by everyone.
The problem with the clay is that sometimes pieces of dust get stuck or that once another piece of clay mixes, there is no way out. The problem with trying to be everything at a young age is that there is no consciousness to cover you like a shelter. And what happens then? You become a gray piece of clay through which you can see all your past pieces of yourself. A gray dirty with the colors of every single person you met but which you can’t tell apart anymore. Because even those got lost in your being too.
As a boat floating on waves, I was going forwards and backwards, the waves being always too big and jumping over my anchor — my true self. I thought the best way to survive this storm would be to choose a model and stick to becoming as similar to them as I could. But as soon as I did so, my mind switched directions. Although I knew that this was the path for me, I was wondering why I didn’t take the other one like the group I didn’t decide to take part in did.
Now, when I look in the mirror, there is the straight hair of my best friend, but also the wavy hair of the girl I saw on the street one year ago and the curly hairstyle I saw on Pinterest. If you asked me how my hair looks, I wouldn’t be able to tell you. It is not mine; it has never been. I always put it under labels and wished it to be things that it physically couldn’t become. It is the same for my lips, my body, my legs, my style, my dreams, and my lifestyle.
Did I try stopping this process? Yes, but there is something in me that finds it hard to let it go. Maybe because, as long as I don’t know myself and get lost over and over again, I never find myself, so I don’t have to bother finding myself now and then. As long as I don’t know myself, how can I judge who I am, and how can I compare myself to others? Maybe I should just continue getting lost in all the shapes, elements, and concepts until I forget I am human and comfort myself by saying that I am just my soul. Thinking about it, I think that this is called the end of your life. When I master this process, maybe it will be too late. Or I will be just ready to leave this place.
Carrying a part of all the people I met was never hard. However, I wish I had had them with me in another way. I have subconsciously analyzed every single one of them and found ways I could have been better. But I am me, a me who has been patched with the remains of other people. Therefore, this isn’t me. Then I am a world-patched doll. Then I am someone who has to find that ‘me’ I lost when I first crossed the threshold.
