In The Eyes Of Others

Being perceived is like a double-edged sword. These swords have two sharpened sides – great for cutting and parrying, but more dangerous for the wielder, too. For years, I felt like being perceived was a form of violence. I hated every eye that turned my way and imagined doing to them what The Bride did to Elle Driver. For people who haven’t seen Kill Bill, spoiler alert: I wanted to rip out their eyeball, crush it under my foot, and watch them thrash in the bathroom of a sunburnt trailer in El Paso, Texas, while a black mamba hissed in the living room.

Being seen by anyone made me feel genuinely revolting. Their gazes felt heavy, judgemental. I wondered what version of me they were building in their heads, what fragment, what caricature – and it made me want to dive into their minds, rewind the tape, and just sit and obsess over the frame they froze me in. People say that the traits linked to your rising sign are what others notice first, like your outward personality. My rising sign is Scorpio, and it’s some consolation that people supposedly see me as ‘intense and mysterious’. But that’s just the story the stars tell. What about my restless hands? The way my lips purse when I’m trying to be unreadable? My physicality? My behaviour? There’s so much someone can catch in a single glance, and the thought of it makes me want to disappear into the mountains and grow moss on my skin.

Social media, in particular, has amplified this fear of being watched. Just opening Instagram for five minutes traps me in a cycle of hyper-perception. Even if I haven’t posted, I’m still obsessing over people’s reactions to the reels I’ve liked, the posts I’ve commented on, and the stories I’ve viewed. Why am I even worrying about someone being disgusted that I liked their story? Isn’t that just plain irrational?

And self-perception is like its own curse. Every time I pass a mirror, I feel compelled to stop and stare. People assume I’m narcissistic, but little do they know, I’m actually locked in a fierce battle with my reflection. I critique every flaw while my weak inner voice scrambles to defend me, and it fails. I treat my reflection like a defendant on trial in the Supreme Court. I earned a law degree from Self-Deprecation University, and I’m ready to tear the accused apart.

I wish I could say I’ve learned how to stop. I haven’t. But something shifted when I realised this: being perceived can be a gift. It’s like a tether. You can’t go through life invisible. There’s a strange kind of grace in being noticed, even when it’s uncomfortable. Even if you’re standing in public, cracked open under the scrutiny of a hundred strangers, at least they notice you. Imagine waking up one day and no one could see you anymore – maybe they’d forgotten you existed. Even if you were still here, if no one could perceive or remember you, it wouldn’t matter. You’d be as good as dead. In some twisted logic, being perceived saves you from erasure.

So, as painful as it is, perception works in your favour. So what if those Indian aunties saw your outfit and immediately began whispering amongst themselves with just a hint of schadenfreude? At least you left an impression. At least they registered your existence, even if they forgot you by the time the next prey walked past.

The trick isn’t to run from perception, but to let it pass through you. Eight billion people in the world, and most of them will only hold you for a blink. If someone saw you in public and remembered you for days afterwards, despite seeing thousands of faces every week, they’re probably in love with you. Otherwise, no one remembers. Yes, they’ll acknowledge your presence, but it won’t matter because their attention will shift to the next person. The pressure of their gaze lifts as quickly as it lands. 

You also have to understand the difference between being perceived and being understood. A single glance is not a biography. Just because someone looked at you doesn’t mean they know you – they only saw what you allowed the world to witness. Nothing more, maybe even less. They didn’t look into your eyes and glimpse your past, present, and future. If they did, then you’ve just met God, and you’re probably destined to save the world or something.

So, you carry the gift of being perceived just enough to leave a trace on the world, but not so deeply that you bleed for days, months, or years. The wound will fade. The memory will rot. And you will be okay. In the wise words of Niccolò Machiavelli, “Everyone sees what you appear to be; few experience what you really are”. 

For more such messy musings, check out Her Campus at MUJ.

• identity
• insecurity
• self-image
• self-perception