By Angel Amorphosis
There are moments in life when you look back at the path behind you and realise you were building something without noticing it. Not a plan, not a project. Something closer to a trail of reflections. A set of mirrors placed gently along the way, each one capturing a different angle of who you were in that moment.
This is my one hundredth article. A strange milestone. Not a number I ever aimed for, yet here it is, staring back at me like a mirror of its own.
When I look at the ninety-nine fragments behind me, what I see is not consistency. I see multiplicity. I see pieces of myself that refused to stay quiet. I see ideas that insisted on being witnessed. I see philosophies, frustrations, insights, dreams and shadows, each holding up their own reflective surface, saying: “Look. This is part of you too.”
Writing, for me, has always been a form of self-observation. Not in a self-indulgent way, but in the way an astronomer studies celestial bodies. You look deeply at what is there, not because it asks to be understood, but because it demands acknowledgment by simply existing.
Across these one hundred mirrors, I have seen:
The observer who notices patterns when others see noise.
The outsider who has always stood at the edge of the crowd.
The child who still remembers wonder.
The philosopher who asks questions even when there are no answers.
The strategist who sees the shape of systems.
The dreamer wandering through inner landscapes.
The witness to injustice.
The rebel who does not want power, only truth.
The artist who refuses to be tamed.
The self that has broken and reassembled itself more times than anyone knows.
Each reflection has been honest. Some gentle, some sharp. Some filled with clarity, others clouded by uncertainty. But all of them true in their own way.
If there is a single thread running through everything I have written so far, it is this:
Awareness is my compass.
Meaning is my instinct.
Honesty is my language.
And imagination is my bridge between worlds.
I do not write because I expect the world to listen. I write because these mirrors would exist whether I acknowledged them or not. Putting words to them is my way of bringing form to what is already present in the quiet spaces of the mind.
This one hundredth article is not a conclusion. It is a pause. A moment to look at the mosaic forming behind me. A century of reflections. A reminder that I am not one thing, but many. And that each piece contributes to something larger, something that continues to unfold.
Thank you for witnessing any part of this journey.
Here is to the next mirror, wherever it may appear.