“Tell me,” he said after taking a sip from his glass and putting it down on the table. “How would you describe your life?”

I didn’t really understand his question. Did he want to know what type of life I had? Whether I was content with it or not, or missing something? No matter how you looked at it, it was a strange thing for him to ask, especially considering we had known each other for years and he could surely answer that question himself. Still, I could see he was genuinely curious about what I would reply, so I told him.

“I guess… I’d say it’s a good life? I have achieved many of the goals I set for myself when I was younger. I am happy with who I am and where I am.”

He laughed. “Yes, of course. I know that.” Once again, he took his glass in his hand and drank. “But that is not what I’m asking. Should have been more specific, I suppose.”

As cryptic as he was being, I wasn’t that surprised. He always had a bit of a dramatic flair when it came to certain things and, apparently, this was one of those things. I took a sip out of my own glass and asked him.

“Then what do you want to know, exactly?”

He didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he stared to the side for a while, probably thinking of a better way to express himself. After a minute, he closed his eyes and started talking.

“What I want to know is something more… literal. Imagine you had to, somehow, represent your life for others to see. How would you accurately describe your life, what you are and what you’ve done, so that others could easily understand it at a glance?”

By the time he had finished talking, his grey eyes were staring at me expectantly.

“Hmm, I’ve never thought about that before… let me think for a second,” I said.

How would I represent my life? How would anyone represent theirs? Are we even capable of summarizing a life into a simple description? If I were to choose, I’d say my life would be represented by the most important moments I’ve lived. Those I’ve met along the way. Those I’ve lost. Yet, I had no clue on how I would show that to someone.

After pondering for a couple of minutes I reached my answer, which may have been a bit childish, now that I think about it.

“I would choose a white wall, covered in snapshots. Each of them representing an important moment in my life. Without those memories, I don’t think I’d be who I am today.”

“What an interesting choice,” he replied. He had approached the edge of his seat. “Tell me, the snapshots cover your past and, to some extent, your present, considering what you said about your past shaping you. But what about your future?”

“There is still room in the wall for more snapshots,” I simply said.

Again, he laughed.

“Of course, how silly of me! It is a work in progress after all, so it makes sense that you would have space for what is to come!”

“Then what about you?” I inquired. After he had posed such a peculiar question, I felt really curious about his own answer.

He sighed and looked down for a second. Then, once again, his eyes met mine.

“I’ve been having a dream lately: a dark void where there is nothing except some sort of small circular platform, or island, floating in the middle of nowhere. A faint light surrounds it and, while standing on top of it I can sense echoes of my past. Moreover, there is a small path leading to another island, of the same features, and with echoes and a path path of its own. As I follow this path, I start noticing other islands: they are close to the ones connected by a path, but I cannot reach them.”

“What are they?” I interrupted, imagining the scene in my head.

“I believe each connected island is a decision. The path connects all those decisions I’ve taken, and each island has an echo of what that decision meant to me. As for the unreachable islands… it stands to reason that they are possibilities. Things that could have been, always at the back of my mind. I don’t know how the path I can see may have differed had I opted for any of the other possibilities.”

He stopped for an instant.

“Every time I have the same dream, I tread the same path. As I walk through the islands, I sometimes notice a small thread of light that leaves the island in the direction of the void. Perhaps it is my connection to others. So fragile, yet so bright and warm. I continue like this, until I can see the final island, my present. But there is something different there, something I haven’t seen anywhere before along the path: there are two hooded figures staring into the void in front of them, with their backs to the path that leads to this final island. One of them wearing blue and grey clothes and the other brown and black. Whenever I try to get closer, my feet simply won’t move, and the same words resonate in my head: ‘not yet’.”

“Who are they?” I asked. I was feeling a bit tense after hearing his tale. “Those figures in your dream?”

Closing his eyes again, he sat back in his chair.

“Me,” he simply said.