What defines you?
What defines me?
What defines us?
This question is something I’ve been asking myself as of late. For the past few months it comes and goes like a fish getting baited but never caught. I often feel like the answer has some hidden meaning that will help me accept the world more. It doesn’t.
I’ve asked all the questions, “Is it what we do which defines us?”, “Is it what we think?”, “Is it what we have yet to do?”, “Is it our likes? our interests? our traits?”, “Is it our legacy?”, “Our claim?”
A possibly poisonous amount of questions. And for what?
An answer that will give me a thousand more questions?
I often express this feeling through text, and I’ve been questioned by a few close friends of how I think, in a minute, in an hour, in a day…
Well, here’s a bit of both, for it slips out of a locked door, and whispers down hallways that no other have walked but I… the corridors holding my mind together… and it whispers so softly, yet with shattering, tear-jerking effect.
“What defines you?”
“Who are you?”
“Are you the past? the current mask? or the yet to be?”
These questions leave me lonelier, and lonelier, and they aren’t the only ones. I succumb to such thinking and lie, awake, walking down my corridors – too scared to open any doors.
I can pretend to answer them, or give it a neat little trick telling you it means nothing, and everything. I could tell you we are who we are, defined by both. The black and white conundrum. Heaven and Hell. Is that the difference?
Maybe someday, I’ll find the answer… Who are you? What defines you?
Though, if it all means nothing, disconnection is what I feel when I look around.