Who am I? 28. Indian. South Asian. Delhi resident. Male. Journalist. Blogger. Son. Brother. Friend. Ex-lover. Lover. Future husband, father, grandfather, great great grandfather. Fiction lover. Music lover. Photographer.
Who am I? What is my non-relational self? Who am I in my own essence, bereft of any linkage with the world outside of me?
I could be like water, that stagnates, meanders, gushes, falls and rises again. I could be like water that is impressionable. That takes multiple forms of solidification, liquefaction, or even turns gaseous.
But these are my various forms. What AM I? Water, yes, but when I look into myself I don’t see the water in its transparency. It is dirty, infested with fungus; it stops midway, sometimes it bursts forth in fury, only to withdraw behind a rock, whispering, mewling like an orphaned pup.
I may be a bundle of impressions, biases, opinions. I may be a reaction, mostly, or a glacier of ego. I may be past continuous or leaping into future. I could be my breath, my lifelong companion, whose loyalty needs no trial. But usually, I travel alone. I forget I do have breath.
I could be an image, created by myself or imposed on me – subconsciously, consciously – by what’s around me. When I step away from these constructs, I could be the steam – intangible, yet existing; or a concrete cube of ice, but whose lifespan is short-lived. I should be water, then, which is transparent, yet easily mould-dable. You can’t hold it in your hand. Like sand, it would slip away, leaving only a few drops that would eventually evaporate.
(This post is in response to The Daily Post’s weekly writing challenge: “Ice, Water, Steam.”)
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