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 

