how to write without sounding self-centered

on you's and i's

Okay, let’s try something new. I’m going to try and write this without coming off as self-centered.

First thing’s first - we have to get rid of the use of “I”. But what do you replace I with? What else gets blurted out when one points a finger towards themselves? I could use my name. Gabi, Gabi, Gabi. Let’s try it: Gabi is sitting at her desk at 9:30pm after another day where the sky never shifted from the same stark-gray, and she’s attempting to write without sounding self-centered. 

Alright, Gabi is not so bad. But it feels infantile to repeat, like a toddler learning its own name, or a theater kid who narrates themselves, suddenly, mid-conversation, throwing the whole moment off.

Gabi is still going to avoid using the word I.

It would be nice to address the mirror in which Gabi speaks from. Because writing about yourself isn’t so much lifting your hand, turning your palm toward your face, bending the wrist inward, folding every finger except for the pointer and staring at the vulnerable tip of it. No, it’s more like light bouncing off of a mirror, or catching yourself in the smooth abyss of a blackened, reflective storefront.

Isn’t this also what self-centered people do? Look for themselves in storefronts. Open the front-facing camera more than the back. Attack those that resemble their shadows.

When considering the event of the mirror, it seems that “you” would be a lovely replacement for “I” or even your own name. Because before recognizing an “I”, one must recognize a “you”.

Who is that in the mirror? In the storefront? In the front-facing camera? For a moment it is a you - an outer figure, an initial noticing of a piece of living matter making contact. Then, something mysterious occurs - an instance of recognition, followed by either a sigh of reluctant acceptance or prideful ownership of the image. Your image, to be exact. The embrace or rejection of yourself depends on the day, the mood, the moment. But, regardless,  suddenly, you find that this you transforms into an I.

Now, it is beginning to come into clarity that the act of lifting a pointer finger to your own gaze does work in the same manner as a mirror. The hand points to the complex object it is connected to and something says - that is me. I am being pointed at. The finger works as the medium in which to witness the you becoming an I, just as a reflective surface would.

Gabi is still trying to write this without sounding self-centered.
Gabi will continue to avoid using I.

You is a tempting, seductive position to speak from. It relieves the burden of I and ushers in a sense of community. In grade-school, we are taught the various modes of storytelling - first person, third person, first person omniscient, so on. There was always that one modality that was swiftly glossed over - second person, the use of “you” as a perspective positioning and narrative guide.

In the classroom, second person was always rejected as soon as it was presented. It was something “we wouldn’t really be doing” but was worth noting anyways. The attempt to hide the concept of second person, to stuff it in the back drawers, to heed warnings of its oddities made it all the more compelling. A craving to write in second person begins to fester, simply because it is the odd one out, the least popular. The individual of the group.

Isn’t that another thing self-centered people do? See themselves as individuals, then mirror this vision in every decision they make, creating a life that reflects how unique they believe they are - including when they choose to use second person, even when advised against it?

The warnings are valid, however. You can’t sustain. Said too many times, you sounds like a motivational commercial, an ad trying to penetrate your aura, a case of over-persuasion that doesn’t succeed in its mission because it’s too aggressive, too desperate.

You, you, you.

You wishes to forgo ownership, and thus, responsibility. You reaches out into the big-open-space. You is an orb or planet. You hands over a mysterious bundle and asks for it to be held. You’s openness can be read as an accusation, an attack, a moment where two primal eyes meet and consider territory. In truth, you just wants to connect. You craves to dissolve the walls of separation and become a unified body. A you-nified body. You wants to stop time ahead of definition, not allowing anyone to become anyone, aborting ship before an individual or self can be created. It wishes to catch the figure in the glossy storefront at the moment of materialization and give it no name.

You wants to get rid of the I.
You wants to inhabit pure awareness.
You wants to write this without coming off as self-centered.






・゜゜・・ﾟ☆ .・゜ ✧・゜゜・・ﾟ☆