Anything
Who am I, but one human who exists on a planet surrounded by heartbreak, war and pain. I wonder, who am I but a fragile green blowing in the wind, willing itself not to crack, hoping its roots hold for just a moment longer. When I was younger, I would lose myself in an un-reality that spiraled until all sense of self was gone. Who am I? What am I? What is an "I". What is a being? Is being me real? What is reality? Time, space, imagination. Is anything physical? Is anything something? I would question until my sense of self dissipated to nothing. I am still struggling to figure out, at 32, who I am to be when I grow up. Nothing is as I planned as a teen. Nothing exists in the same way. Colonization and its global horrors have built a society that pushes normal humans down and keeps the rich in power. As we know, I did everything I was meant to do. I did well in school, put myself through college while working, served a Christian mission, graduated, worked. I was an uncomp