I have a vivid imagination. I always have. Sometimes it’s so real, I don’t know the difference between it and what’s really going on.
When I was about five years old, I started a habit of staring out the window. I would usually do it if i was supposed to be studying, or after I was sent to bed — the times I wasn’t allowed outside — and I would hesitantly put my hand on the glass. I wanted to go through, and so I reached out.
But she always blocked me. Wherever I put my hand, my reflection also put hers. If I pressed hard, so did she. She wouldn’t let me pass through the glass. I once asked her why she kept doing that. She said it wasn’t time yet.
Years later, I remember these moments, and it starts to make sense.
It wasn’t time yet; she was right. But now… I can go outside.
A quick explanation:
When I was younger, I had very feminine features, and it didn’t help that my guardian let my hair grow out. I was misgendered 96% of the time by strangers.
Even when I looked at my own reflection, I saw a girl. And in the famous words of Mulan: “Who is the girl I see staring straight back at me? Why is my reflection someone I don’t know?”
Yep. Exactly that.
So I became detached mentally from my reflection, and considered it a separate entity apart from myself.
And thus, my imagination took over from there.