Is it the model wife or ideal daughter or the skilled hostess? Or is it some stranger that lives somewhere in our head furtively waiting for chances to come out when our defenses are down?
We get so comfortable that we forget to question why things are the way they are. That there’s a world that exists beyond the perfection we have created so painstakingly and that this world is not as ideal. We don't want to hear or think about it and when perchance we do, we want to change the topic to some superficiality, which happens to be the fad of the day.
We never want to meet that stranger because that stranger makes us look inwards, makes us question our validity, asks us to venture out of our luxurious dollhouse.
We never want to go through the looking glass... what if we find out that it is actually we, who are ones living our lives backwards.