Identity

There I was, sat on our uncomfortable office chair, staring blankly at the page in front of me, contemplating how best to elaborate myself on paper. My eyes burned from the unremitting glow of the monitor. My forehead beaded with unwanted perspiration, making the experience much more uncomfortable than it already was. My mind strained with the stress of having to explain myself. And if my memory serves me right, I’ve always hated having to explain myself. The work I have before me was simple. The objective was perfectly clear. But I couldn’t deny to myself that I was having trouble with said simple task. It was unmistakable. I guess I never anticipated that writing about one’s self would be this difficult.

Like with everything else I’ve written in the past, I find that the easiest way to overcome such similar roadblocks is to ask myself a question. In this case, that question would be, “Who am I?” A stranger might probably tell you that I have funny hair. My shower head, assuming it was magically animated and was given the ability to talk, would probably tell you that I spend more time singing in there than the actual shower itself. My online accounts in web hosts like WordPress or Multiply would candidly reveal that I would want to be a photojournalist someday. And my friends, they would tell you that I’m loyal, caring, and sensitive. Either that or I’m neurotic when it comes to grammar, in such a way that I would correct them at the drop of a hat before some stranger could even deem their sentences incorrect. There are many ways to describe myself right off the top of my head. But is that really who I am as a person? I decided to exhaust my resources to find out. My search for definition led me to my works. I figured that if my answer to everyone who asks me to tell them something about myself is that I’m artistic, my body of work would know me best.

I couldn’t believe the outcome. As I sat there pensively, reading post after post of my blog, and looking at various photographs that I have taken, I found myself confused at some of the things I have posted. Who is this person who wrote such things? Did I really take such awful pictures? Somehow I had difficulty identifying.

But like a bolt of lightning shooting across a thundercloud, it dawned on me. The reason behind my predicament was as simple as this simple task required of me—I’ve grown. My skills have improved as time wore on. What wisdom I have accumulated over years of acting out, resentment, and teenaged angst are starting to show. It’s so easy to pinpoint all those things mentioned above. It’s so easy to pinpoint my flaws and imperfections, my strengths and weaknesses, but it’s the little, arbitrary factoids about my life that I’ve somehow managed to overlook. I have ambition now; I know which direction to take my life toward. I’m no longer as self-absorbed. My taste in fashion, books, and movies has drastically improved. I have comparatively made peace with my familial issues. I have a stronger sense of self.

So ask me again to describe myself, and I now know what to say. I am my own person, on the cusp of maturity.

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~ by iamnotfrodo on August 14, 2008.

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