There’s someone. Looking at me. No, spying on me. Every time. The whole time.

Not when I’m crowded with strangers, but when I’m alone with my work. Not when I’m reading but when I’m blankly staring at the book. Not when I’m sitting idle but when I have nothing to do. Not when I’m lonely in the street but when I’m crowded with colleagues. Not when I’m dreaming but when I’m sleeping. There’s someone. Looking at me. No, spying on me. Every time. The whole time.

In the dark night when my shadow leaves me, I’m afraid to light a lamp. In the time when I’m lost, I’m afraid to use the map. In the time when I’m not me, I’m afraid to look around because I feel it now. There’s someone. Looking at me. No, spying on me. Every time. The whole time.

I took help, but it was in vain; no one believed I was in pain. I slept early, but it got me nothing; I was still being watched by something. I called my friends, but they told me it shall pass; they didn’t do anything, they didn’t believe me. Then I took alcohol, but the bottle left me without making me drunk enough to see who’s behind, standing silently without a word, but I knew. There’s someone. Looking at me. No, spying on me. Every time. The whole time.

I sat silently that thundering night; it was dark, and there wasn’t any light. I hoped to see ‘it’ that day, killing me to pieces, but I was wrong. It didn’t do anything. It just spied on me. A cold shiver ran down my spine when I heard a story of a neighbor who had the same fate as mine. She was found dead with no scratch on her body; she was new here. She couldn’t resist anyone spying on her, so she left what she loved—her art, her lifeless body. People mocked her, but they tell me she’s deaf in her grave and doesn’t listen to anyone now. She’s her artist of the graveyard. She doesn’t pretend to be worried now. I am shaken. I don’t know if the same is going to happen to me tonight because there’s someone. Looking at me. No, spying on me. Every time. The whole time.

I ain’t no deaf; I can hear them telling me what to do, when to do, how to paint my life, how to write, how to speak. But still, I am not learning. I am not dead, but I ain’t living either. I’m not afraid, but deep down my courage has left me. I am trying, but I have given up. But now my every action, my word, my breath is being recorded. There’s someone. Looking at me. No, spying on me. Every time. The whole time.

I waved to the shore at sunrise today. I made myself a coffee. I wandered through my thoughts. I painted my last piece. I read my long-lost diary. I dressed elegantly. I paid off my debts today. I danced my heart out to the song I loved, as I don’t remember doing all of it for the last 20 short years. After all, this was my last day. ‘It’ will kill me tonight, in my lonely sad room when I am sleeping without any dreams. Tiredly and aimlessly working for centuries, not writing anything, leaving my painting, leaving away my happiness, I knew I had invited ‘it’ very close to my door, and today it was standing just with a sharp knife to smile at me. I couldn’t do any justice to myself now but just live for the remaining few hours with a plethora of life. I walked down the shore, threw my wallet in the sea, and I started running. I ran my last few miles with all the energy I had, not escaping anyone but me. I was running so hard that my ears heard my heart for the first time. I did not need anything; my body was communicating with the wind, the water with itself. It seemed as if the whole universe was still, just listening to my heartbeat, as if I was the protagonist and it was my time to do the masterpiece. I could feel everything I was; I could feel my importance in the land; I could feel my soul reconnecting with the universe; I could feel all the energies coming in me. I could feel blood running in my veins; I could feel my bones enjoying it to the lees; I could feel my soul being free; I could feel myself—happy.

And then I could feel ‘it’ standing just behind me.
With a smile on my face and courage in my heart, I was ready to face whoever it was. I turned around. It was there. Standing in front of me. Looking at me. No. Smiling at me. This time.
It was no one else but me.
It was me, having the most beautiful eyes filled with dreams, with the most innocent smile filled with love, with a fearless soul filled with hopes and satisfaction. It was me, looking at me. No. Smiling at me. This time. The whole time.

It was the old me, with energy to do whatever it takes to complete my dreams, with eyes filled with determination and soul filled with art. It was me, living joyfully in my dream world. It was me, trying to catch up with the wind, swimming in life without any regrets or fears. It was me, smiling and learning from everything. It was me, filled with hopes, with sacrifices for my dreams, listening to myself, not society, loving nature, not using it, working hard on things I love, not the ones I was supposed to love. It was me—with a free-spirited soul and a strong desire to do good for this world. It was me, not crucifying between the regrets of the past and the anxiousness of the future, but living in the present. It was me, truly alive and breathing every moment, feeling all life. It was me, looking at me. No. Smiling at me. This time. The whole time.

I stood there silently, wondering when I lost myself in the last 20 years, when I went from dancing with dreams in my soul to blankly staring at the patterns, from that cheerful smile of doing everything with the best of my capabilities to wanting to do nothing, just nothing, from living each moment of my life to merely existing all the way. Where, when, and why did I lose myself? I had no answers to these questions. My answers were dead; they had no meaning. And with a faint smile, I looked at it again. It was me, looking at me. No. Smiling at me. This time. The whole time.

I was waiting for it to take me wherever this horizon meets, wherever there’s happiness, wherever my soul may get free. At that moment, I knew how charming life is, and how tiredly we spent it, how dreamy life is and how lifelessly we spent it, how magical life is and how logically we spent it, how happy life is and how calculative we spent it. At that moment, I knew life is neither a journey nor a destination; it’s neither your memories nor your people. Whatever it may be, it is inexplicable and relative and one step beyond all the logic in your room. It is not death that scares us but what we let die in us while living, which we are truly afraid of, and to overcome this, we put all efforts into dying slowly every day unintentionally, very unintentionally. Life is simple; it’s our logic and calculations which make it complex.

‘It’ gently flew away, leaving me at the shore full of life and smiles. I was ready to live. I turned around and promised myself that I can’t extend my life, but I shall live my short time with more life. Life is too amazing to not be lived. Because somewhere someone is spying on you; it will never leave you. It watches you, with dreamy eyes and beautiful smiles. Every time. The whole time.