What I need to tell my shrink

Every day I tell Mrs. P., “Come on, Mrs. P., it’s time for our yoga practice.” Then she jumps on her sofa (Yes, she has her own sofa. After all, she is a Mayan princess. At least, that’s what I tell her to make her behave a little more queenly instead of smelling every cat’s butt.) and watches me practicing my asanas. However, after the second sun salutation she surely falls asleep, and she only wakes up again when she hears me chanting OM.

Mrs. P. watching her favourite show.

That got me thinking: For Mrs. P., practicing yoga means lying on a sofa, watching me doing funny and totally unexplainable things as if she were watching TV (Unfortunately, I look nothing like Jane Fonda in those sassy aerobic videos.).Then, since the show is that boring, falling asleep and finally waking up to the chanting alarm clock.

When I was little I tended to mull over very essential questions. As does probably every child. However, I didn’t know how to express them and to whom. And so I remember that one day I asked my mum how we could know that we all saw things the same way. Like how could I be sure that for her green was the same as for me? Maybe for her, the colour of grass wasn’t what I saw as green, but merely how I saw red. But since she had taught me that that colour was green, we would never find out. That theory would explain some people’s very bad colour choices.



My mum replied, “Well, otherwise, I wouldn’t call it green, would I?” She clearly missed my point here, probably she couldn’t imagine that I would ponder over such a complex question. I am sure that it wouldn’t be difficult to find a shrink who would confirm to me that she had done terrible damage to my little soul back then, and that probably, she was the reason that sometimes I had those terrible dreams of being chased by giant mice. Or such. After all, it is always easy to find a shrink who will tell you that your childhood sucked and that it wasn’t your fault that you were so lazy and craving chocolate cake all the time. Finally, that shrink would give me a prescription for prozac and I would live happily ever after. But that’s another story.

I also remember flicking through my biology book on very rare occasions, coming across a picture of how humans see the world in colour and how dogs see the world in black and white. And I seem to recall that hedgehogs see everything in yellow. Still, I haven’t got the faintest idea how anybody could prove that, as I cannot imagine hedgehogs being terribly cooperative.

It is pretty clear that we all see the world differently. We all e.g. have a different understanding of beauty. Some say that Claudia Schiffer is the most beautiful woman in the world, some say she is just another boring face. (Dear children, if you don’t know who that is anymore, ask your parents.) There is no right and no wrong when it comes to these matters. But who can actually know for a fact that it stops there?

Children see things differently than grown-ups. When I visited my friend Miss C. for the first time, I was terribly impressed by how HUGE their house was. AND they had a chandelier which proved that they were somehow descendants of some royal family. (Did I mention I have a weak spot for royals? Just in case, you hadn’t noticed yet.) Later on, I found out that the house was actually pretty small, so was the stunning chandelier. But who says that what I see now is the reality, and what I saw when I was little was reality under a magnifying glass? Maybe now, my eyes shrink things? And maybe my friend Miss C. still sees her house as big as it seemed to me back then? But we shall never find out, shall we?

That’s my brother explaining the world to me. He appeared very old to me back then. Well, he still does. Some things never change. Luckily, we got rid of the psychedelic wallpaper.

Maybe it would make us all more tolerant if we realized that our view of the world is uniquely ours, and that other people experience the world in a very different way. But I am rambling. Have to hurry up now. Mrs. P. says, it’s yoga time. Gosh, I wished she weren’t so addicted to TV!


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