"Have you ever heard of the five stages of grief?"
The girl's sudden change of tone and topic caught me off guard. I wondered where this was going, but I decided to answer her anyway.
"Uh, yeah," I replied hesitantly. "I know a bit about them."
The two of us were now walking further into the vast expanse of the blank, where there was no visible beginning or end. I had no idea how far or how long we had been walking for when she asked that question out of nowhere.
I was wondering why the girl had brought up the topic of the five stages of grief, but I recalled having read about them in a book before. If my memory served me right, it was a psychological theory that people experience different stages after losing something or someone significant. These stages include denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and acceptance. I couldn't see how it was relevant to my truth, though.
She seemed to sense my confusion and chuckled before saying, "It's definitely relevant, don't worry."
"I see," I thought calmly, not bothered by the fact that she had somehow managed to read my thoughts.
"You see, Leon," the girl continued, "the five stages of grief don't just apply to losing someone or something. They can apply to any kind of change or transformation in your life. And that's what we're here to explore, isn't it? The truth about yourself and the changes you need to make."
As we treaded on the seemingly endless white terrain, the girl maintained her pace, and I followed her steps, trying to keep up.
With each step we took, I found myself drawn further into the conversation about the five stages of grief, even as I remained uncertain about how it related to my own situation.
As the time passed, I found myself conflicted as we walked, unsure if I wanted to continue discussing the topic of the five stages of grief, but at the same time, I felt a growing sense of curiosity about what the girl was trying to tell me.
The girl seemed to sense my hesitation and waited patiently for me to gather my thoughts. As we walked in silence for a few moments, I found myself contemplating her words and the implications of what she was trying to tell me. Her previous statement about grief not just coming from the loss of someone or something important had piqued my interest. I wondered what other types of losses could lead to such a feeling.
Despite my initial hesitance, I decided to push the conversation further and asked her to clarify what she meant. "You said that grief didn't just come with losing someone or something important to you. What kind of losses are you talking about?"
I heard a soft chuckle escape from her lips, indicating that she found my question quite amusing.
"Well, there are different kinds of losses," she began slowly. "It could be losing someone you love, a dream or aspiration, a part of yourself, or even an idea that you strongly believe in. Any of these losses can bring about grief."
"Okay... So how is this topic relevant to my truth? What did I lose?" I asked.
In response, the girl chuckled. She seemed to have been waiting for this question to be asked, as if she was pleased that I was finally catching on.
"Leon, you lost something very important," she said. "You lost sight of who you are."
The girl's statement about losing sight of my identity left me perplexed. Although I was certain about my true self, her words implied that I had somehow lost touch with it. This left me feeling puzzled, as I struggled to understand what she meant by this cryptic remark. It felt like a conundrum that required careful thought to unravel.
I gazed at the girl's back, watching her as she continued to walk ahead of me. My mind was still processing her words, trying to decipher the meaning behind her statement. Was there something she saw that I didn't? Did I truly lose sight of who I am? I couldn't seem to shake off the feeling of confusion that lingered within me. Meanwhile, the girl appeared to be oblivious to my confusion, as she continued to walk, seemingly unaware of my internal turmoil.
"The loss of oneself," she said. "The loss of identity, purpose, or meaning. It can happen to anyone at any point in their life, and it can be just as devastating as any other kind of loss."
The girl stopped abruptly and redirected her attention towards me. Her eyes gazed at me, as if she were peering straight into my heart.
"So, Leon," the girl said, "which stage do you think you're in? Denial? Anger? Bargaining? Depression? Or maybe... acceptance?"
I didn't know how to answer her question. I hadn't really given much thought to the five stages of grief before, and I wasn't sure which one I was experiencing, if any.
Sensing my hesitation, the girl snapped her fingers, and suddenly the white expanse transformed into a scene from my past. I saw myself repeatedly pounding the ground, screaming, "I hate this! I hate this! I hate this!"
"What stage do you think this is?" the girl asked, looking at my past self as he pounded the ground. "Is it anger, or maybe still denial?" she continued, her voice filled with curiosity.
Puzzled by her question, I responded, "I don't know. Why are you asking me this?"
She let out a chuckle and explained, "You see, Leon, these stages of grief aren't linear. People don't necessarily go through them in a set order. They can bounce back and forth between them, or even experience multiple stages at once. And in your case, well, it seems like you're still stuck in one of these stages."
I was taken aback by the girl's words, as I had believed that I had moved on from the different stages of grief. After all, I had accepted that I was a disappointment, a failure, and weak. I had accepted that I had no direction in life and that I was lost. So, when she asked me what stage of grief I was in, I was confused. I didn't understand why this girl was so confident in her answer, and I was determined to prove her wrong.
"I don't think I'm stuck in any of the stages anymore," I responded firmly. "I've accepted my reality and have come to terms with it. I don't see how I can still be in denial or anger when I've already processed everything."
The girl regarded me with a thoughtful expression. "Acceptance, huh? That's an important stage to reach, but I don't think you're quite there yet. You're still holding on to those negative beliefs about yourself, which means you're not truly accepting your reality."
Her confidence in assessing my mental state surprised me. Was I really at the acceptance stage or not? I couldn't be certain.
Her words seemed to have planted a seed of doubt in my mind, causing me to question whether I had truly come to terms with everything that had happened to me. Despite my initial resistance, I couldn't help but consider the possibility that I might still be clinging to those negative beliefs about myself, preventing me from fully accepting my reality.
"Acceptance is a tricky stage, you know," she continued, "It's not just about knowing who you are, but also embracing it fully. Have you done that?"
I didn't answer. Why was I hesitant to answer her question? Had I truly accepted my reality or was I just trying to convince myself that I had? I thought I had accepted my reality, but her words made me question myself.
As I remained silent, the girl seemed to sense that I wasn't going to answer her question. Without missing a beat, she continued walking, and I followed her closely.
As we moved through the featureless white landscape, I couldn't help but wonder about the nature of this place. It seemed to stretch on infinitely in all directions, with no discernible landmarks or points of reference to guide us.
I looked around at the vast expanse of white around me, feeling a sense of emptiness within me. The emptiness was not just in the space surrounding me, but it was also within me, a feeling of incompleteness that I couldn't shake off.
Lost in my own thoughts, I didn't realize that the girl had stopped walking until I almost collided with her. Startled, I looked up to see her turning towards me with her eyes fixed on mine. Her gaze was piercing, and I couldn't help but feel like she was trying to read my thoughts.
"We're here," she said simply, and when I looked around, I couldn't help but gape.
"What... is this place?" I inquired, my voice filled with wonder.
The scenery was difficult to put into words. If there were a single word to describe it, I suppose the word absurd would fit best.
"This is the place where the thing you forgot resides," the girl explained. "This is the deepest part of your mind—your subconsciousness."