Looking Backward Thru the Microscope

If you can see them, perhaps they can see you.

I can see him.

He thought that he could see me but that I could not see him. But I could. He thought that his appearance and his actions were invisible to me. He thought that he could observe me with impunity, but that I could not do the same.

What made him think such a thing? Am I a bug, under a microscope, visible down to the smallest detail, but unable to observe in reverse?

Yes, I can see him, see him plainly. He could hide, perhaps, and then I would not see. But he does not hide. He insists on making himself plainly evident and in great detail, yet he somehow thinks that I do not see.

I think I get it. As he observes me, he presumes that I do not have the ability to comprehend, to assess, to process information. Yes, to him I am that bug. I am to be observed, judged, classified and categorized. But not in reverse.

But I observe back. I can see him. How could I not? Even if I have no desire to expend the time and effort, and I don’t, how can I not see him? He is omnipresent. He is there when I eat my food, read a newspaper, see my doctor, buy a house or drive a car. Yet he thinks that I do not see him.

But suddenly, it has changed. He sees that I see. He sees that I comprehend. And so he now hides. He tries to throw up walls and barriers such that I can not see. But still, I see. He foolishly attempts to convince me that what I saw, I did not see. But he only reveals himself in still greater detail.

He is afraid. Ironically, he blames me for making him afraid. If only I had not seen him, not comprehended him, not followed his actions, not taken notes, he might enjoy blissful anonymity. But I do see him. I am watching. I am judging.

I will not stop.

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