The Glass Between Us

Text by Hanna Ignaciuk

Images by Carme Ferrando Soriano

We are sitting at our usual bar, engaged in a smooth conversation. We are not only friends; we are companions. They are the only ones I have since moving abroad, into this new context. I feel like we are the only ones in this world. Every day, every experience is shared. The moment we met, we clicked. We started co-existing. Sometimes, I feel like we are wired; we are bound to the same context someone else has tied us into.

The experience is intense and intoxicating—life seems complete. Nothing is holding me back from telling every detail about situations in my new life. We co-exist, and therefore, they have the right to know. Sitting at that table at that bar, we yap, yap, yap about minor details, slightly exciting affairs, and eye contact from the day. I tell them all about how I cried because someone did not show up. They express compassion, make me laugh and agree with my anger. We analyse the other person’s behaviour and feelings, and they help me interpret the emotion and plan what I should do next. I’m enjoying myself, drawn into my new life, stuck in my new reality. 

Then there is a pause. Something that pulls me out. The conversation stops flowing for a nanosecond—someone takes a sip and breaks the stream. Maybe it was a phone ringing or someone asking if this seat was taken. The fantasy of being here and now is gone. The situation we talked about has an underlying layer that sticks and pokes at me, makes me insecure and reveals a trauma. A non-existent monster grows in my head, but I cannot verbalise it; a glass wall emerges between me and them. Suddenly, I find myself in a familiar limbo I've visited too many times before. The unequal ratio between the intensity of our relationship and the shallowness of the extent to which we actually know each other, our histories, and the circumstances that formed us, creates a small abyss between us. We have just met, but we are the only people in the world. We need to share reality because we are the only ones there. We want to tell each other everything because only then do we feel close; we feel like we are not alone. However, there are moments when we hit the glass wall of not wanting to say what is happening because it connects to our past lives. The moment I get stuck and the glass blocks my passage, in silence, I want to scream, ‘It did not happen here! It's connected to my other life.’

For the first few months, I lived in this fantasy of having a family and inner circle. The rules are simple: We share every moment, live together, and give each other warmth, but we cannot talk deeply about emotions that disturb us, as most people do. The goal is to gain intimacy and intensity while not getting close at all. We walk with smiles painted on our faces, choosing paths together and remaining behind the glass walls. After some time, everyone wants to break another person’s wall or tries crushing into their own. The wonderland falls apart and becomes oppressive. It is said that sometimes you just need time and space. There is no space, but can the ticking clock be slowed down? I want to get out of my little matrix and share the context, and myself. I realise that the glass is ice that melts, that the things left unsaid and out of sight will reveal themselves with time.