Swan Reflections

To be or not to be, that is the question. Okay, fine, I’ll admit this time. Yes, I don’t know. I don’t know everything yet I know something. To be or not to be, that is the question. I don’t know what I have to be. What I will be. And what I should be. Whatever I’m becoming, should I be that or not. Whatever I’m doing, should I do that or not. And this dilemma is solely not mine. It’s with almost all of us. Okay, fine, maybe a few of us. Sometimes I wonder how interesting experiences and humans can be, that no sole experience or narration belongs to only one person in the world. Uniquely. In fact, you’ll find many who have sacrificed their comfort to give freedom to those who needed. You’ll find many who have lost their dear ones. You’ll find many who remain unchanged even after a heartbreak. What I’m trying to say is, from the world on a tiptoe to a house succumbed in comfort, no narration is unique. Are we all similar? I think so. I don’t know about you. I see people and I see storie...

If morality is shaped by power, does that mean justice is merely a construct of those in control? We have different truths. What you consider a lie might be the only thing that has ever kept me alive, and what I consider to be true might be a lie to you. The world is not as it is; rather, it is as we have experienced it. All of our beliefs are a patchwork of our experiences, pieced together by memory, reshaped by time, and warped by necessity. Subjective or objective, truth is never straightforward. If it exists at all, it is merely a flimsy delusion that we hold onto, persuading ourselves that what we perceive is true and that our emotions are warranted. However, truth is not an independent entity; it is burdened by consequences and the ruthless indifference of reality. Is a father a criminal or someone in need if he steals to feed his hungry child? When a soldier kills for his country, is he a murderer or a hero? A liar who saves—a liar or a savior? This is how human behav...

"Look around, Ted. You're all al one." Dear Franz, If you were here, I would have made you watch this show called “How I Met Your Mother”, especially the moment when Ted realizes that he’s all alone, and it’s pointless to chase destiny (not the stripper...well, in German, a stripper is called “Burlesk-Tänzerin.” Not exactly this, but it’s a close reference). You would have understood, I know. You would have known me then, if you had seen me crying over it for hours. I would have told you that every night I’m in awe when I look at the moon and wonder how beautiful it looks in all its phases. I would have also shown my concern for the neglected side of all these phases. And probably, you would say, “A moon is a moon, and it’s beautiful no matter what phase it’s in and so are you. Even the neglected parts of you.” Then I would have felt seen, heard, and understood. And yet, sometimes I wish you were here, standing beside me, watching me fall apart. I would have shown you the...

When the World Is Clear and I Am Not I am the closest in this picture. Right there, near the lens. The camera should have found me. It should have caught me clear. But it didn’t. I’m blurred. My face, my edges, all of me… softened into nothing. And yet everything else—the walls, the path, the lights, everything stands sharp. Still. Almost arrogant in its clarity. It stings to look at it. Because it isn’t just a photograph. It is a reminder of something I’ve been living. I keep giving myself away. Piece by piece. In caring. In listening. In carrying others so they don’t fall. And while I was busy holding everyone else in focus, I let go of myself. I faded. You don’t notice it when it begins. That’s the cruel part. It starts small like choosing silence instead of speaking, choosing someone else’s comfort over your own. You tell yourself it’s nothing. You tell yourself it’s love. And you keep doing it. Over and over. Until one day, you stop recognizing yourself. Until one day, you look in...