Perhaps what you say is true, my friend. But perhaps you aren’t as confident as you appear?
I mean, consider this scenario.
You’re waiting in a plush lobby where nothing seems to happen. Let’s say you’re waiting for that very important interview. And as you watch the pale faces of your peers, staring into dog-eared copies of old magazines, you are consumed with a vision that you have always been fighting off.
You see the mists rising, quite literally, from off the edges of things lying around — an exquisite old china vase your mother just won’t let you touch is revealed amidst old hard-bound volumes of books — and then your eyes meet giant photographs framed in ornate softwood lining the walls…lace curtains flutter in the sunlight, which darts off the mirrors in the walls.
Wait a second. Did you see mirrors in the walls? Or were they old photographs…?
Furtively, You glance back at those walls, still somewhat covered in mists. You can make out the polished wood framing the glinting surfaces. You begin to think that they resemble the far wall of your college library — the one which had a marble bust–of someone you can’t remember — under the soot-covered paintings of others.
You shuffle uneasily. This is no way to prepare for an interview as important as this one. Perhaps it is the stifling environment. Yes, it must be those pale faces poring over limp magazines that is inducing a stupour. You will agree that it is best to splash some water on one’s face in such circumstances and look around for better engagements. Sudoku might help. Or at least a crossword puzzle….
So you get up and head straight for the polished door with WASHROOM written on it. It’s surprising that you are the only one to make a move in quite some time; of course you haven’t noticed anyone going that way all the time that you have been sitting. “People here are anti-loo, it seems”, you think, as you stride ahead, leaving a trail of half-turned heads behind. A pale man approaches from the opposite direction. And before you can ask yourself where he emerged from, you are faced with yourself — a big blot on the polished door with WASHROOM written on it.
“Is this a mirror too?”, you think frantically, as you turn around to meet the gazes of your peers. The silence in the lobby is deafening. “Errr, excuse me, but could you tell me which way is the washroom?”, you ask no-one in particular as ten thousand sunsets blaze out of mirrors in the walls around. You can’t be sure that they’ll respond, can you?
Come to think of it, my friend, which way will you go in this situation? Will you try another door?
Hold on there, can you be sure they existed in the first place? I mean those mirrors in old softwood frames — reflecting elusive doors. Perhaps it is but trivia. Perhaps it is just one of those childhood demons you haven’t yet conquered. Perhaps…. Can you still be that sure about yourself, my friend?