Who am I?

You are sometimes defined by what you do. Sometimes by who you are with. Sometimes by who is with you. Sometimes by what you have been. When you don't have an answer to any of them, the mind calls for an identity. And the heart joins in the tirade.

Who am I? What is my identity? I search for an answer. But I cannot find one. A little surprising considering that I have always thought of myself as someone who comes to answers by logical conclusions. And then I dig deeper, and realize why I could not find my answer. There is no answer.

My identity right now is a clash of personalities inside me, if you will. One that says that to be successful, you gotta start young. To another that says you gotta live your younger years with all its color and vigor. A personality which says work is all that defines a man, to another that says work is just a means to an end, an end in itself. And I am right in the middle of all of this, trying to find my way. To make my identity. I don't have one. Logical conclusion.

Life surely has come a long way. I used to be good with words; I still am, but mostly in writing. When I can gather all my thoughts and punch them in rapidly, in solitude, before they desert me. The vocal skills are gone, for lack of someone to talk to. The big bright eyes have given way to eyes tired and sleepy with hours of staring at the Macbook. The fit and lean body has been replaced by occasional layers of fat, from hours of sitting on ergonomic chairs. The body bursting with positive energy that not only pushed me but excited others around me to go out and explore is now a body that needs to be inspired. The excitement of going places has given way to dread, of losing out valuable time that could be better spent on work.

But not all is lost. It is easy to think so when everything seems so far apart, but there are flashes. Of hope. Of friendship. Of love. Of good work. Of good satisfying work, that can one day define who you are. It is often through the dreary haze they call alcohol. The liquid that burns your throat, fucks your stomach and throbs your head the next morning. But you need something to to hold on to, to give you company, to calm your nerves and to fuel your body. Through the dreary haze, the silence has been carving out a clearer head. The loneliness has been feeding a stronger heart. The war of personalities trying to define an identity inside me has given a purpose to actually create one.

It is just a phase, and it shall pass. The loneliness and the confusion will give way to a clearer head and steelier resolve. I will define my identity, my mind says. And the heart joins in.