Kaleidoscopes We Carry
Sometimes I count the faces I see each day, like collecting scattered puzzle pieces. Five, maybe ten conversations that stretch beyond the usual pleasantries each week. Lately, I've been noticing how we all attached to what we call our opinions and preferences. Like when someone says with absolute certainty that this particular restaurant in XMUM is both the cheapest and best - as if they've mapped every corner of our campus through their taste without looking at the wallet.
Then I see another type of person who measures life achievements like train stations they've passed through, marking each one with the authority of a station master. I keep thinking about this IELTS story. Someone who climbed that mountain of English proficiency, and reached their "8" after countless months of study. When they meet someone with a "6", they see the number but miss the landscape of stories behind it.
It reminds me of what Nietzsche's perspectivism, though I doubt he ever had to take IELTS). Well he believes we're all looking at the world through lenses we've crafted from our experiences. Like kaleidoscopes where every turn shows a different pattern, but we forget that someone else might be holding their kaleidoscope at a completely different angle.
The truth is, our certainties are as fragile as morning frost. One day you're absolutely sure about something – the best coffee shop, the right career path, who someone is at their core – and then the world shifts 180 degrees, like a record spinning to its B-side. Everything you thought you knew reorganizes itself into new patterns, making you wonder if you ever really knew anything at all.
That's why I find myself hovering at 70%, maybe 80% certainty about things, never quite reaching that confident 90%. It's not indecision – more like leaving room for the mystery. After all, in this campus of thousand stories, who am I to claim I've read them all?
Sometimes I count the faces I see each day, like collecting scattered puzzle pieces. Five, maybe ten conversations that stretch beyond the usual pleasantries each week. Lately, I've been noticing how we all attached to what we call our opinions and preferences. Like when someone says with absolute certainty that this particular restaurant in XMUM is both the cheapest and best - as if they've mapped every corner of our campus through their taste without looking at the wallet.
Then I see another type of person who measures life achievements like train stations they've passed through, marking each one with the authority of a station master. I keep thinking about this IELTS story. Someone who climbed that mountain of English proficiency, and reached their "8" after countless months of study. When they meet someone with a "6", they see the number but miss the landscape of stories behind it.
It reminds me of what Nietzsche's perspectivism, though I doubt he ever had to take IELTS). Well he believes we're all looking at the world through lenses we've crafted from our experiences. Like kaleidoscopes where every turn shows a different pattern, but we forget that someone else might be holding their kaleidoscope at a completely different angle.
The truth is, our certainties are as fragile as morning frost. One day you're absolutely sure about something – the best coffee shop, the right career path, who someone is at their core – and then the world shifts 180 degrees, like a record spinning to its B-side. Everything you thought you knew reorganizes itself into new patterns, making you wonder if you ever really knew anything at all.
That's why I find myself hovering at 70%, maybe 80% certainty about things, never quite reaching that confident 90%. It's not indecision – more like leaving room for the mystery. After all, in this campus of thousand stories, who am I to claim I've read them all?
