Letter #7: Entry #3 — Identity
Entry #3
Identity
So I questioned the innermost parts of my being because conversation begets probing, and probing – learning. I inquired about my fidelity towards myself. I searched the alleyways of my heart; those spaces that I tried to silence by refusing to enter. Those tunnels of graffiti decor – some scar shaped – painted with the worded artistry of peer pressure, self-doubt and the external opinions of who I was, and who others thought that I should be.
“What say ye of your existence and who do you aspire to be under the rising and setting momentum of the sun?” I questioned. “Furthermore, who do men say you are; and does this description sit well with your soul, in the satisfaction of truth and the type of accolades that you can be proud of? Does your character speak of good merit; and is your good merit a testimony of consistency in and out of the public’s eye? Is your heart anchored with purity and the best of intentions? Do you know who and whose you are?”
I know that it is not easy to see yourself as enough – as whole. To try with all thy might to be complete. One soul, one body, one drum beating heart sending rhythmic messages to the universe announcing your freedom. It is not quite easy to see, that on the inside of the city walls of your soul, festive dancing and merry music occurs every time oxygen is summoned. It is easier to have an identity so sponge-like that you are always another. An identity so nomadic, that behind the walls of your fortress, your streets lay desolate.
I have struggled to find my place on earth at countless intervals. To conjure an identity unmoved by the pressure of scrutiny and unshaken by opinions, was once a battle for me documented in defeat. In retrospect, I think that I only became cognizant of my many wavering transitions when I was twenty-one years old.
Throughout my childhood, I had a special affection towards the moon. I imagined that we shared many conversations of intimate thoughts during nights where her Ivory glow shone majestic in the midst of darkness. When bridled with heavy heartedness and silence, I would have dinner in her presence on the front porch of my home and wonder if any other soul appreciated her glow as much as I did. When the words finally arrived for me to articulate my dissonance, I would write to her. I would write and think and search myself while being nestled deep within her glow. She became my muse and parable. She knew my secrets. These insecurities and weaknesses I harboured. She also knew of my strengths; and so in a way, the moon represented to me a symbol of unchanging comfort. No matter the shape of her appearance, she would always maintain by virtue of purpose, that light that glowed in the midst of darkness. This was her unwavering identity – light.
I once wrote to her on the eve of a birthday that I celebrated in reflective silence, away from the direct fanfare and best wishes. I was massively lonely on that day; and so I had this fantasy, that because I had completed another solar cycle, she – the moon – would decide to glow only for me on that night. I took the entirety of her circumference as a cheerful gesture for my heavy-heartedness. I placed pen to paper and wrote to her: “Dear moon, why shower me so adamantly with the paleness of your skin?”
“Because all that I can give is my everything.” she replied. “Because I know that even in the closeness of your proximity to the sun, dark hours still exist with the rotation of the earth. Because I feel like you should know, that even in your darkest hour, someone is still thinking about you; borrowing a light which they themselves do not own just to light your path, illuminate your steps, exchange glory for your dull. It is because I find no other joy than securing your faith in brighter times ahead with the task of my rising, and shape-shifting. It is because the light that I borrow and reflect is a representation of all that I know you can be; and my reflection is always a glorious one.”
The moon shines to display to me all that I can be. The moon shines to remind me that I too can be someone’s glow in the midst of darkness. That my identity will be established around such a purpose. The rule of nature is that identity is found in purpose. The leaf does not complain about its colour, neither does water about its ability to become evaporated. The caterpillar knows that it is consistently changing because of growth; and therefore endures the sluggishness of its temporary appearance. The flower awaits the bee for pollination in exchange for nectar. The identity of one connects all for the overall survival of everything, because identity and purpose run in parallel lines.
I have struggled with my identity in so many ways before. I have tried to fit into spaces and crevices and crowds not meant for me. I have often times stifled my own growth because I did not understand my purpose; that present continuous driving force where my identity is found. So I questioned the innermost parts of my being because conversation begets probing, and probing learning. I asked this time around: “what do you suspect to be your purpose?” Then within the alleys of my heart that were painted with the opinions of others, I remembered who I was. I remembered that my birthplace was in the mind of God, and that my date of birth was the day that my mother found something worth dying for. I remembered someone saying that the Pisces clan had a natural tendency to thrive on anything that is deep, so apologise not for your thoughts. Then I remembered my name and its powerful potency. My name; the only portal to a land I have not yet seen, to air I have yet still to breathe, to dirt I have yet still to feel.
Life has taught me to build something that this world cannot break; and to own something that this world cannot take – my Soul.
