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A viral outcry over the death of Stranger Things’ Barb becomes the doorway to a deeper inquiry: why do we grieve fictional characters as if they were real—and how is that different from the “character” we call me?
This reflection explores how our sense of self is stitched together from memory, emotion, and cultural archetypes—the achiever, the rebel, the caregiver, the cynic—none more real than the roles we mourn on screen. When we begin to see these identities as shifting performances on the stage of awareness, the grip of the ego softens.
The piece closes with a contemplative exercise inviting you to witness the fluidity of your personas, to rest in the awareness that never changes, and to live with the lightness of knowing: what you truly are is not the character in the story, but the light that makes the story visible.
By Seye KuyinuA viral outcry over the death of Stranger Things’ Barb becomes the doorway to a deeper inquiry: why do we grieve fictional characters as if they were real—and how is that different from the “character” we call me?
This reflection explores how our sense of self is stitched together from memory, emotion, and cultural archetypes—the achiever, the rebel, the caregiver, the cynic—none more real than the roles we mourn on screen. When we begin to see these identities as shifting performances on the stage of awareness, the grip of the ego softens.
The piece closes with a contemplative exercise inviting you to witness the fluidity of your personas, to rest in the awareness that never changes, and to live with the lightness of knowing: what you truly are is not the character in the story, but the light that makes the story visible.