Windows

Each view is its own kind of truth

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I approach people as windows. Truly, I do. Sometimes I like the scene that opens through them, sometimes I don’t. That’s only human. Sometimes I rush to judgment, sometimes I’m patient. But most of the time, I feel curious — drawn to listen, wondering if there’s something there for me.

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Some windows are high up in tall buildings. From there, the world shrinks. Big cars and small cars blur into the same “small cars.” People — tall, short, round, thin — become nothing more than dark dots moving without direction. It strikes me how the higher the window, the smaller everything seems, as if the differences that matter so much up close dissolve into sameness from above.

Other windows are closer to the ground. From here, differences come alive. Colours, shapes, sizes — everything feels sharper, fuller, more real. There is a noise that makes you feel connected to others; you hear the voices of people walking, talking in the street. You don’t feel alone there.

Where a window is placed matters. It changes the very texture of what you see. It fascinates me how one thing can hold two opposites at once. It all comes down to what you are searching for in the view.

People are the same. Some carry the perspective of a window high above, some closer to the earth. Each view is its own kind of truth, equally valuable.