The Other Reflection – by Gladys Kumi

It always had to do with whenever she spoke. There was an obstacle to overcome, to make way past. The fuss was about the SRC candidate who had won the election. It was an easy stream of communication where everybody threw whatever they thought in every direction. They impressed their minds in all assertiveness, to the other ends of the room; hitches never existed.

Expressing her presence wherever she would find herself, by talking, always seemed like such a conscious thing to do. It was conscious and calculative with the effort to launch herself. She had to come outside of her dimension of ease and push herself to the edges of discomfort. It was a rigorous exercise that rubbed frictionly with all abilities.

Heroically pushing against it did not in the least alleviate the tackle that ensuing talks always came with. There was the climb as sure as it could be.
It was not that there was a void of thoughts to express; a void of opinions, perceptions, and mindsets never existed. Her mind was bursting with them, and they were wound around the words the people spoke before she had to consider.

Assuming such a position would be precedent and make a new record, which would definitely be a new blaze of inspiration for upcoming women’ That was a definite kind of input. It couldn’t be voiced out more clearly..in her mind, as though that had been stringently made the object on which to make an impression. So there she was, having a lot and nothing to say about everything.

Personality dimension-wise, she observed at the end of many years, that there was no affinity that drew an inclination to remain quiet and no innate dislike to talking either. It reflected the other way in public: Her survey group leader said she was introverted, and her high schoolmates expressed to her that they understood she liked being quiet.

The truth is there was no strength in the launching pad for every ‘leap of faith’. It felt like every attempt was resting on thin ice, and that thin ice was worse off if it got broken. And then she would picture the dreadfulness of coming out wrong It hit her with such precision that it had to do with her image. The problem was one with how she saw herself.

The powder room certainly was an extension beyond conventional use for her, in settings like this. It was a slip-away to moments of mental ease, all unfolding in front of a mirror. She stood in front of it. For that split second, she persuaded herself to believe in all things extraordinary and
fully expected something out of the ordinary to flash before her eyes.

She therefore looked closely and curiously into it. Her reflection stared back with undiminished curiosity. She realized disappointed, that that was all there was to it. All that there was to it was seeing. As though that event has not been natural as far as the occurrences of nature would have it. Two persons. Staring and staring back. No, she was not satisfied, for she had subconsciously looked to find someone in the mirror.

She was instantly drawn to some words that flitted into her mind from nowhere, drawn by those words though they were too faint to have that power.
What did she think? What did she think about the reflection? There was a moment of silence, like the ones we may have with an audience of
people over a riveting issue, but this time her thoughts were standing still, looking for the answer to the question.

That was a new window being opened to her as she watched. There were none springing up—none to show that she had any reflective views or
beliefs about herself. She viewed that person through her mind’s eye, and it stared back, waiting for answers. She had left a space where there could be a positive buildup; it took away the strength, and where there was supposed to be, there was shakiness for every ‘leap of faith’. That person had not been created. It had been missing, a whole reflection-the Other Reflection.