Borges and I

Borges and I is first-person dour account of a man who is losing himself, to himself. The writer is torn up within himself, he placidly observes how he changes from himself, into Borges, the man which people see face-to-face. As people, we carry around masks, these masks are our adaptations to society, however, these masks are double-edged swords, as they suppress and suffocate whom we are, and the person inside becomes locked away, never to see the light of day. This was happening to the writer, he observed as his true nature slowly began to erode. Eroding under the pressure of being locked away, and the pressure of his mask, Borges, taking over.

The entire piece remains melancholy, with a powerful sense of nostalgia as the writer silently screams away his desire to persist, but accepting the finality of his situation. Through out the whole piece, writer admits to knowing that his end is at hand, he silently admits that he is fading away, every day bringing him closer to becoming the mask he wore, rather than living his life as the man he was. In truth, while he wrote, "I am giving over everything to him" This wouldn't be correct in my humble opinion. The most likely truth, was that everything he was, was being taken from him, assimilated by Borges.

As one reaches the end of this self-reflective piece, one notes the change of demeanor, from acceptance, to reminiscing the last struggles he had against Borges. "Thus my life is a flight and I lose everything, and everything belongs to oblivion, or to him." The writer recognizes that ultimately, either he fades away into nothingness, utter forgetfulness, or what remains of him must exist only in Borges. Howeverr, the greatest and most powerful piece in this entire reflection lays in a simple statement.

"I do not know which of us has written this page."

This is a powerful conclusion, with a complex and elaborate meaning. The writer recognizes in his entirety, that he is Borges, and Borges, is him. While he dejects Borges, he cannot deny that he is a part of Borges, and Borges, a part of him. He knows that his personality is changing, changing into the adaptation, the mask which is Borges. Borges which was created only for society, had encroached beyond the realm set for him to exist in, and now Borges and the writer had become one. They were always one, but they were one in their own territory. Now finally, they had become one, both inside, and outside. The last remnant of the writer, wrote this page in expressing his regret toward this union, his last feeble attempt to consolidate and create material that could protect and preserve at least a minor instance of himself.

By the end of this page, the writer fully recognized he no longer knew if he was even still himself.

By the end of the page, the writer essentially died. And Borges assimilated the last of him.

Acceptance is the final step before change overtakes you completely. Be that change one of personality, one of situation, or one of the end of mortality. Acceptance is the key to letting that in completely. The writer accepted, and then it was only a matter of time.

At the beginning was a defiant man. At the middle a man accepting. And at the end, the writer disappeared and another took his place.

Borges.