Ode to the ghost in me

In the Western world, demons are often spoken of, but in our native land, we refer to them as ghosts. This linguistic difference has long intrigued me, as I often find myself attributing my struggles and preoccupations to these spectral beings. Perhaps this is because ghosts share similarities with the darkness that resides in our hearts. Unseen yet always present, they loom on the periphery, awaiting an opportunity to infiltrate and overtake us. This self-destructive aspect of ourselves remains inscrutable and beyond our control, like a creature that lurk in the shadows during the day, concealed beneath pleasant appearances and wistful smiles. We yearn to bury this inner demon, to hide it from view so that no one may bear witness to its existence.

Yet, in moments of solitude, we can sense its presence, hear its soft footsteps as it shuffles through the night, drawing ever closer. And then it descends upon us, engulfing us in a watery abyss that leaves us feeling helpless and adrift. It is in these moments that we weep and confront the paradox of our identity: that ghostly presence within us is both us and yet wholly unfamiliar.

Who among us does not possess this darkness within our hearts? It is a universal human experience, a reality that we must all confront in our own way. Yet, by acknowledging its existence, we can begin to chip away at its power, to confront it with the fullness of our being and emerge on the other side stronger and more self-aware.