kalopsia - a slightly personal account on the "persona" and its many facets (and its ramblings)
etymology: from Ancient Greek καλοψία (kalopsía), from καλός (kalós, “good, beautiful, lovely”) + ὄψις (ópsis, “view”).
noun
kalopsia (uncountable)
the delusion of things being more beautiful than they actually are.
i do always say that i have not felt something like shame in what seems like a long time, but i (perhaps somewhat begrudgingly) dragged myself up the looming glacier with shame snug in my arms like a newborn swaddled in clean cloth. the faint vermilion that spread across my cheeks was not anxiousness or embarrassment at my situation like i initially thought it could be. i was deceived, or perhaps i had deceived myself as i stood and waited for my brain to grant itself audience to a theatre with not a soul in the bleachers.
the rough dark markings engraved onto the sutures of my cranium did not just show up there on their own; they were etched there by hand until my fingernails drew blood and my digits grew numb. i had conducted my own vivisection: i forwent the acts of kindness and traded the foundation of my own being for the fantasy of comfort and peace— and so that is the story of how my “self” came to exist.
i am a person that does not do well under pressure. it is of my own observations and conclusions that i live, for now, to appeal to the wishes of others. like how a chameleon can change colours, i find that i may conceal myself quite easily, whether it is to appear colorful and poisonous so predators do not eat me or to appear warmer and more visually appealing as to blend in with the background.
though i must say that the other end of the bargain was so incredibly banal in the end that i can barely spend the energy into looking closely at myself to see what i have metamorphosed into now; a odd misshapen mixture of every colour and every tint— a chaos formed from prisms of colour. i can witness my form diminish into mist and fall apart, and then i can rematerialize and be restored all at once. i am a hollow shell— i realize this, and i have been somewhat comfortable with the thought, though there are times where it irks me occasionally. i believe that to live is to be dyed in innumerable hues and shades whether you want to or not.
“being nothing isn’t all bad: it means nothing substantial is expected of you, and therefore no unnecessary attention is brought to you," or at least that’s something along the lines of what i believed in back then.
i am not sure if i still believe in such things now. at risk of sounding egotistical, i feel as though i have matured into a historical record; the living manifestation of the ideals, opinions and impressions of the ones who i have seen and connected with. i can barely walk properly on my own, just barely, let alone run, and there are, and will continue to be, many times where i must learn to move myself again, but i will continue to hoist my limbs upwards onto the jagged rocks and drag myself up the mountain crevasse with these heavy weights on my shoulders anyway.
i may be but a blank canvas awaiting the taste of pigment suspended in oils and polymers, and though i may yellow and age and crumble and fall apart, even fake flowers can be beautiful, can't they?
i will unconsciously bring myself back together again, and it is at that point that the cycle repeats— it is a constant cycle of decay and revitalization. the Ouroboros immediately comes to mind. like how a dreaming caterpillar disintegrates into living essence, and emerges from its cage to become a most beautiful creature, and then to eventually fall and transform into nourishment for the soil, which in turn brings about new foliage in the place where it was laid to rest— an old death granting a new life, albeit in a new form, and the cycle continues in tedium until it will one day fall to the same rules.
i will make a promise to myself: no matter what, i will not lose my humanity. regardless of what i am created or transformed into, whether it is by my own will (best case scenario) or by another's, fragments of my “self” will always remain in the hearts of the things i cherish dearly. i can at least hope that they will.