A seemingly simple question -- who am I?
One could say I am a guy called DragonFang to some and Nils to some others. One could say I am a friend, or a lover, or a son. One could state I am a psychologist, or a dreamer, or perhaps a nice guy. And one would be correct in all cases (I hope).
However, those descriptions do not define me.
There is something, beyond words, that defines my identity -- who I am, and nobody else is. Everyone feels it instinctively. The moment a child realizes its identity does not stretch out beyond itself -- their mommy and daddy do not know what it has done in their absence. The line between oneself and the outside world. The line that defines my being.
Nothing I do or am is unique; however, every person is unique. This is probably the individualist's paradox -- one doesn't want to be part of the crowd, but in doing so becomes a part of (another) crowd that wants to be unique. People try to define themselves based on what they are not, but achieve the opposite effect.
It is a paradox I can't escape from, and from it springs my question -- who am I? Am I a unique individual at all?
Interestingly, people in less individualistic societies (China, North-Korea, even Eastern Europe) define themselves exactly by referring to their social class. They are a farmer, or a businessman, or a mother. What makes them special is generally not what they think of.
Perhaps we are not as unique as we would like to believe. To paraphrase Tyler Durden, perhaps I am not a beautiful and unique snowflake, but I am merely the same decaying matter as everything else.
And only in death will I have a name -- on a fading tombstone, eroded and finally forgotten.
New on this blog's menu: the random thoughts of the day. Which, as they are random, will probably be a non-daily occurrence.
