Michigan in Color
The Michigan Daily — michigandaily.com

New Year, new me

I awoke to the sound of
meowing and an itch in my eye.
As I regained consciousness, I
began to remember where I’d
fallen asleep. I took stock of my
friend’s apartment bedroom.
The slight weight of a hang-
over bore down on my head as
it started to ache, compounded
by the fact I had definitely got-
ten too little sleep. I groggily
pulled my phone off the char-
ger to see the disappointing
time of 9 a.m. displayed, real-
izing I had definitely stayed
up too late with my friends on
New Year’s Eve. My friend’s
adorable cat stood at the foot
of the bed, so I needed to make
my escape. I learned last time
I slept over through my right
eye’s ballooning just how aller-
gic I was to him — one of many
things I wish I could change
about myself. Ah, I thought
to myself, it’s gonna be one of
those days.
I stumbled over to the bath-
room, not bothering to turn on
the light and using my flash-
light as needed. I didn’t want
to face the light yet. After I
washed my hands and face in
the dark, I went to gather my
things and cleaned up my mess
from last night as quietly as I
could around my other friends
sleeping on the couch. While
opening the door to leave, I
shot my friend a quick text
thanking him and explaining
my escape from his allergenic
cat. I paused and turned when
I heard a crash in the bath-
room. Was it just the cat again?
Lowering my eyes, I saw my
friend lying on the floor. He
was struggling to do sit-ups.
I tried to resolve this con-
fusion with a stage whisper.
“Hey man, you alright? I heard
a noise, was that you? Also, uh,
you doin’ a lil’ mornin’ work-
out?”
My friend rotated his head
to lock eyes with me and
answer while maintaining his
exercise. “Yeah, just sit-ups,
y’know? Might go for a run
after this or something else.”
I forced a chuckle. “Starting
the new year off right, huh?”

He stayed silent for a second,
almost comically focused on
holding my gaze while doing
sit-ups. “Honestly? I just kind
of stood in front of the mirror
this morning for a second and
really looked at myself. The
person in there was the only
thing that would really change
my life for me, so I decided to
let him — ‘New Year, new me’!
You could try it if you want.”
I grunted in agreement, feel-
ing some unidentifiable urge
to leave. I felt bad he was still
staring at me while working up
a sweat, so I excused myself.
“Maybe I’ll do it at home.
Thanks for the night, man.” He
nodded wordlessly and turned
his neck back to the task at
hand, the form of his sit-ups
improving with each rep.
I blinked and found myself
already back at home. This hap-
pens sometimes, perhaps on
one of those days when I don’t
feel like experiencing any-
thing: drives, walking, meals.
It was already the afternoon
somehow. I figured I must’ve
killed the hours lying on the
unusually uncomfortable car-
pet in our living room. I began
to rise to my feet and gathered
myself before I noticed my
mother sitting next to me. She
was deathly still. I was about
to grab her and make sure she
was alright before she let out a
deep exhale.
My mother opened her eyes
to look at me. They lit up at
the sight of me, with that kind
of joy I felt so often unworthy
of. “Did you have a good New
Year’s Eve, beta? Are you hav-
ing a good morning?”
I sprawled my legs across
the rug and told half the truth.
“Yeah, Mom. Did you?”
“We had a good time at the
party, but of course we missed
you. Do you know if you’ll have
time to spend with us today?”
A yes almost dropped from
my
mouth,
but
something
unexplainable was telling me
to leave. My stomach twisted
and dragged me from want-
ing to stay here, forcing me
to change the subject. I wish
I had it in me right now to be
a better son. “You’re getting
very skilled at meditating,
aren’t you Mom?”

She glances down at her
folded legs. “Yes, I’ve been
practicing a bit, especially in
the morning. You know, I got
up and looked at myself in the
mirror today. Do you know
what the Upanishads say about
your reflection?”
I shook my head.
“They say the person you
see in there is Brahman — the
Supreme Truth. You meditate
on that truth in the reflection
and within yourself. I thought
today I should really do that,
like — you know how you kids
say? ‘New Year, new me?’”
I gave her a slight nod, then
decided on something. “I’m
going out for a little bit,” I
said to her, as I glanced up
at the sunset already begin-
ning. Making my way through
the door while grabbing my
jacket, I expected some kind
of protest but my mother just
remained where she was. I
repeated what I said, and she
gave the slightest nod, instead
of
the
usual
interrogation
about when I’d be back and
what I was doing. Maybe she
really was a new her.
I blinked and found myself
20 minutes out from my house,
cruising down the road. Some
melancholy
track
I
don’t
remember queueing up played
out into the soundscape of
traffic. This was a ritual of
mine, where I’d embark on a
journey in this car just look-
ing for anything to make me
feel something. It was a ritual
I’d been practicing for years. I
imagined driving forever and
ever, with some unexplain-
able thirst to escape my life as
it stood. Driving to nowhere
in particular, I tried to drink
in the sights of my city. Slow-
ly but steadily, the thought
of leaving clouded my vision.
City lights began to twinkle
as I blinked back tears. Keep-
ing one hand on the steering
wheel
and
another
wiping
my eyes, I contended with
the thought like I always do,
knowing exactly where it was
coming from: a desire to leave
myself behind, a need to sepa-
rate myself from my current
incarnation. I pulled over into
a park overlooking a river,
stepped out and stared into the

world’s reflection in it. The
truth was in there somewhere.
I let my tears add to the flow
of the river and felt myself
come to terms with the desire
to escape, and realized what I
had to return home to do.
A man then walked up to
me. Not recognizing him at all,
especially in the dark, my anx-
iety heightened for a second as
I moved back toward my car.
“Hey, don’t be scared! I left
behind my old life today, and
you could too, y’know?”
This stopped my motion. I
looked up at him approach-
ing me. With nothing but the
moonlight reflecting off the
river, I could barely make out
any details of his attire. As
he got closer, it seemed much
of the light was reflecting off
him, almost blinding me.
“All you have to do,” he
started, “is come with me.” The
man grabbed me by the arm.
He began to pull me away from
my car. My anxiety peaking, I
pulled away with that fight-or-
flight energy as hard as I could
but the man’s grip stayed.
More cars started to pull into
the lot and more barely-dis-
cernible people stepped out
toward me. That unexplain-
able feeling reared its head
again and roared, prompting
me to lift up my leg and kick
at the man while pulling. I
generated enough leverage to
finally wrest my arm free. It
finally escaped but not without
cost, as pain surged through
my arm. I realized something
in his hand cut through my
clothes into my flesh. As the
mass of people took more steps
toward me, I retreated into my
car clutching my sleeve and
tore out of the lot as fast as I
could, trying to make it back
home before any of them could
follow me.
At
first,
the
adrenaline
pumping didn’t let the pain
through. The drive home was
a solid 20 minutes of anxious
mirror-checking to see if there
was any one car behind me.
Surprisingly, I didn’t have any-
one there. In fact, the middle
of town that always seemed
so busy was completely bar-
ren, even at this time of night.
Streetlights
flickered
then

turned off completely, forcing
me to turn on my brights. I was
almost in the home stretch,
relatively unscathed, save for
my wounded arm. Just a few
minutes
through
midtown
and I’ll be home, I told myself,
glancing back up at the rear-
view. I saw nothing but my
eyes, touched by an unknown
gentleness. The small homey
buildings of midtown came
into view, giving me the only
lights on the road I’d seen for
miles. As I drew closer, I could
make out the same words lit
up, on the theater marquee, on
lit-up storefront signs, on the
electric display at the bank:
New Year, new you! Good
reminder for home, I guess. My
arm started to cry for attention
as the adrenaline wound down.
Finally, I pulled into my
driveway then threw myself
out of my shoes and into my
house. My house was unusu-
ally quiet, but I had to check
on my arm first before investi-
gating that. I just needed to see
a mirror. Slamming the door
shut to the bathroom, I rolled
up my sleeve to see shards of
glass embedded in my arm. I
felt my face drop in shock, first
at my arm and my reflection’s
smile.
It was so warm. Such a gen-
tle look stared back at me from
behind the glass and part of it
made the pain fall away. I man-
aged to vocalize my disbelief:
“Sorry, what the fuck?”
My
reflection
tilted
his
head. “You really need to start
listening more to your moth-
er.” He rested his hand slowly
against the glass. Something in
me pulled my hand to meet his.
I tried again for answers.
“Something
about
the
truth?” His smile grew wider,
the fluorescent light reflected
inside the image seemingly
bouncing off his shimmering
teeth.
“No cat allergies. A better
son. Being someone else entire-
ly. That’s what you wanted,
right? We are the sum of every-
thing you could aspire for and
improve yourself toward. The
collected potential that you
wish for every time you stare
unto us, yet find yourselves
unable to achieve. We’ve been

watching all this time.” The
reflection lifted his hand from
the glass and reared it back.
“And we have had enough.”
A shatter rang out and a hand
clasped around my throat. I
traced the length of the arm to
find it extending from a hole
in the mirror. Something else
pulled me in too — a vacuum, I
realize, coming from the other
side of the mirror. It meant
there was nothing on the other
side but this being.
“Don’t fight it like you did
earlier. You’re one of the last
to be reinvented. Becoming
better is not always a pleas-
ant process — sometimes it is a
violent, bloody thing that you
have to accept will hurt.” Say-
ing this, my hand was slowly
pulled into the opening, the
jagged glass leaving new cuts
in my skin. Another crash and
another hand came out from
the mirror. This time, it gently
cradled my face. The reflec-
tion’s face pressed against the
glass and I held my head as far
away as I could from the mir-
ror, trying desperately to think
of anything to stop this. All I
could do was cry out word-
lessly, begging for someone in
my family to save me but then
realizing what had already
happened. The hand around
my face found its way to the
back of my head and the last
thing I saw was the mirror
rushing toward me.
I blinked and found myself
on the other side of the glass.
I blinked again. Then again,
trying to figure out what kind
of twisted dream this was. I
watched the bathroom door
open to see myself step in
with a broom and dustpan. My
hands moved before my mind
as I pounded against the mir-
ror to no response. I could
hear the rest of my family — or
no, whatever truths they were
replaced by — chuckling hap-
pily as I talked to them beyond
the glass. All I could do was
sit back and watch, meditat-
ing on the truths I saw beyond
the mirror. I watched him fin-
ish sweeping and prepare to
return to the rest of the family.
“Don’t
worry,”
he
said.
“We’ll all be good to each
other. New year, new us.”

SAARTHAK JOHRI
MiC Columnist

Aditi Khare/MiC

Wednesday, January 18, 2023 — 7