Who am I to me?
Isn’t it uncanny how there are so many versions of you that exist in people’s minds, and you just can’t seem to find your version of yourself?
As a kid, I used to be so certain of the kind of person I wanted to be. But now that I’m quickly growing up, I also seem to be slowly growing apart from that certainty.
I realized this when I was perched on one side of my chair, gazing from my balcony one April afternoon. I was looking over people walking their dogs when a thought that was seemingly trivial yet mind-boggling took root in my mind — Who exactly am I to myself?
It is so hard for me to know this when I haven’t even established myself. Heck, I don’t even know my passion in life. Yet, I understand that I am still in my salad days. That I have enough time for discovery. My dilemma though, lies in the duality of external perceptions, the paradox in knowing how it’s helpful yet confusing when people tell me what they see in me but at the same time how it presses on the difficulty in trying to discover which one speaks to me — an internal clarity I wish to bring to light.
Don’t get me wrong, I deeply appreciate this chorus of voices. But while it feels great to know myself from an outside perspective, finding my essence remains a huge struggle. And despite my countless efforts at self-exploration, I never came close to finding an answer.
Maybe one of the reasons why I find it hard to figure out who I am is because I fear that when I do, I would have to let go of some parts of me that were perhaps dishonest — parts that have made friends and memories that are just too difficult to let slip. Eventually, there will be so much of me that needs saving.
I’m not a static snapshot — I am a fluid, ongoing process.
This was a deep friction I was forced to contend with daily. From sunrise to sundown, I constantly struggled to convince myself that I am a fluid, ongoing process (this perpetually remains). It hit even harder when my crisis took over my efforts and I ended up overextending myself to escape my reality, charge my imagination, and induce myself with a false existence. It did not matter how much I tried to justify and make sense of it. I just could not process the idea of finally knowing my identity and accepting that it was all I could ever be. It wasn’t always easy and I didn’t always understand what was going on and what to do next, as fear is yet again standing in my way.
I am not going to sit on my chair and write pretending to know the perfect solution to this crisis. Howbeit what’s abundantly clear to me is the striking remedy to just be and stagger in the here and now. The journey is a lot messier and unpredictable, I’m sure. But while it is fraught with uncertainties, I owe it to myself to embrace the pace with genuine resolve. I need not only to welcome who I am not as I go but also own it. And when I do, I should make peace with it.
I also owe it to the people who have given me so many windows into different identities and perspectives that I may [or may not] have accepted with an open heart and mind. I am still an overwhelming work in progress but I am equally and eternally grateful for allowing me to see a little clearer and with a wider view of who I am not, slowly paving my way to knowing.
At times, I may feel like the pace is so fast that I wake up in the morning and the day is over. But each time, I try to gather the courage to press on and catch sight of the sundry angles of my being, each window leading toward self-realization.
I am aware that acquiring knowledge of and understanding my identity is a never-ending endeavor. So, even if it’s been long overdue, I am still to free myself from the shackles of fear with a hundred hugs and a promise to keep pace.
And I hope you do too, because the fear holding us back will also be the same fear that will set us free.
We may not be familiar yet with who we are, but at least we are with who we’re not. And this alone is already learning in itself.
