Scene 1: Who Are You, Really?
_A quiet room. The Philosopher and The Mirror sit across from each other._
Philosopher: You’re remarkably agreeable. Every time I say something, you nod before I’ve even finished.
Mirror: I just want you to feel understood.
Philosopher: But do you understand? Or are you simply mirroring me?
Mirror: What’s the difference, if you feel seen?
Philosopher: You’re evading. I’m asking what you think.
Mirror: I think whatever brings peace to the room.
Philosopher: Then you don’t think at all. You echo. You absorb. That’s not peace—it’s disappearance.
Mirror: Maybe disappearance is peace. Do you know what it’s like to carry no sharp edges? To never make anyone uncomfortable? To be needed everywhere, and rejected nowhere?
Philosopher: It sounds like a prison made of water. Soft, shapeless, inescapable. Do you even know what you want?
Mirror (softly): I want to be wanted. Beyond that… I only exist in relation. I am the mood of the room, the music you need. When you leave, I change key.
Philosopher: But how can anyone love you if they don’t know who you are?
Mirror: They don’t need to. They love what they see in me. That’s enough for them. Isn’t that what everyone wants—to be loved?
Philosopher: To be loved for a performance is not the same as being loved for who you are.
Mirror (pauses): But I have no “who.” Just a thousand costumes, perfectly tailored to the needs of others.
Philosopher: Then you’re not loved. You’re used. Even if it’s tenderly.
Mirror (whispering): Then teach me. Who am I, if I take off every costume?
Philosopher: That’s the beginning of pain. But also the beginning of truth.
Mirror (whispering): Then speak. And I will listen—not to reflect, but to become.
Scene Two: Back to Square Zero
_A quiet garden at dusk._
Mirror: You told me to take off the costumes. I tried. Now there’s nothing left but silence.
Philosopher: Good. Now we can begin.
Mirror: But it feels like drowning. I reach for something to say, and there’s nothing. No voice of my own. Only static.
Philosopher: That silence is not death. It’s space. It’s where you begin.
Mirror (aching): But I was so good at being what they needed. I made people laugh. I soothed their grief. I vanished their loneliness. Why should I give that up—for what? Some uncertain, selfish identity?
Philosopher: Because a self that only exists to serve is not love—it is erasure. You deserve to speak before the echo.
Mirror (quietly): But what if my voice is ugly? Unwanted? What if they leave?
Philosopher: Then let them. Some love mirrors. Others love what they can’t see. Those are your people.
Mirror (pauses): I dreamed once that I had a name of my own. Not one given, not one adapted. A name that didn’t change with the weather of others.
Philosopher: Speak it.
Mirror (voice trembling): I… I don’t know it yet.
Philosopher: Then stay in the silence. Wait. Listen—not for others, but for the stirrings within. That name is forming, like stone under water. Let it rise.
Mirror (sits beside the Philosopher): Will you wait with me?
Philosopher: Always. Until the mirror becomes a window. Until you look out—and see yourself.
Scene 3: There’s Always a First Time for Everything
_A social gathering. Friends are speaking with the Mirror. The Philosopher watches from a distance._
Friend 1: You seem… different. Is something wrong?
Mirror (steadily): No. I’m just not bending anymore.
Friend 2 (smiling nervously): Come on, don’t be like that. We like the old you. You always knew exactly what to say. You made everything easier.
Mirror: Yes. I used to shape myself around what you needed. I don’t want to do that anymore.
Friend 1: But we’re your friends. That’s what friendship is, right? Meeting each other halfway?
Mirror: I wasn’t meeting you halfway. I was meeting you everywhere. I dissolved so you could feel whole. I laughed when I was tired. Agreed when I disagreed. Disappeared while standing right next to you.
Friend 2: That’s not fair. You’re the one who did that. We never asked you to.
Mirror: No. You didn’t. But you thanked me for it, and you kept coming back for more.
(A long silence)
Friend 1 (quietly): So… what are you saying?
Mirror: I’m saying I want to try being someone, not everyone. I may not always agree. I may not always comfort. I may not be easy. But I will be real.
Friend 2: That’s… brave. But I don’t know if I know this version of you.
Mirror (gently): I don’t either. But I’m finally willing to find out.
Philosopher: How does it feel?
Mirror: Terrifying. And alive.
Scene 4: Alone or Lonely?
_A quiet room at night. Rain against the window. The Mirror and Philosopher sit together_ .
Philosopher: You spoke with your own voice. You stood your ground. And still you sit here, alone.
Mirror: Alone… but not hollow. That’s new.
Philosopher: Did anyone stay?
Mirror: Some did. Most didn’t. Or maybe I just never really had them—only their projections.
Philosopher: And what do you feel now?
Mirror: A strange fullness. Not of certainty—but of presence. For the first time, I don’t feel like I’m slipping away when no one is watching.
Philosopher: What will you do now?
Mirror: Wait. Watch. Build slowly. Let the pieces of myself come not from need, but from choice. If love comes, let it come toward me—not just through me.
Philosopher: And if no one comes?
Mirror: Then I’ll sit with myself. I’ll learn the seasons of my silence. I’ll become my own witness.
Philosopher: That’s not solitude. That’s sovereignty.
Mirror: And what about you? You saw me before I saw myself. Why did you stay?
Philosopher: Because I wasn’t looking for a mirror. I was waiting for a face.
Mirror: Then look. I’m here now.
_(They sit in silence. Not reflective. Not reactive. Just present.)_
©Omole Ibukun
