id

More often than not, I am lost. I have no idea who I am, what I am doing, and what are my next steps. Everyone else, however, seems to have a notion on my life and future. I am seriously starting to believe everyone else knows me better than myself. Sadly, this is no joke, no sarcastic remark on anyone who tries to run my life, but the truth. People who spend time with me have a firm grip on who I am, as if I am a book that closes only to the mirror. All this while I struggle with every second that goes by, where I find myself at opposite sides of the scale, fighting myself for a place in my heart and mind. It seems that no matter how much change I go through, everyone else already knew that, and were waiting for me on the other side. Well, hello!, could you have helped a little, or told me how it would go down? Because I sometimes struggle to hold on to what I think I should, but for which I lack the strength.

In those brief moments, I pull up a chair and talk with life. I talk a, pun intended, lively conversation about it, and the future, and whatever it brings upon me.

And life, as usual, tilts its head a bit to the side, laughs gently in amusement of my futile attempts at it, raises both hands closed at me and asks "Which one?"

Confused, I pick. "The left one", for instance.

"What will be in it?" it asks. Patronizing me. Deservingly.

"A seashell. Old and soft, as if washed out by a hundred years of running water."

"Why not the other one?" it asks, curious.

"I don't know, I just picked one."

As it opens the hand, "Take a look.", a seashell, but not old, or soft. Brand new. Still baring it's inhabitant.

"That's not what I said."

Life kept its smile, but looked down at the shell, looked at me sideways, and proceeded to assume a more authoritarian stance, chin up, looking down on me. "It is."
"I cannot grant you what you wish for yourself. I cannot make you who you want to be. You must carry on and move as if you know how to move. I simply lay the cards, and leave you to play with them. I hold nothing on how you will play, or even if you will play at all. I give you something to choose on. This shell is what you created. It is a part of you. This shell will be your life. How you live it will determine it's fate."

"How come everyone else seem to know who I am?"

"Other people only listen to what comes out of your mouth. They only see what you show them. They only feel what you make them feel. For you to reach their understanding of yourself, you would have to quiet the doubt, and the unspoken words, and the undone actions, and the inexperienced feelings." Life said.
"For that, however, you must wash in a hundred years of running water."

Are you who you think you are? Don't others know you better than yourself?

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