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Self-Discovery
Tuesday, August 13, 2013 at 5:52 PM
"Who am I?" is a pretty difficult question to answer.
Sometimes I don't know if it still matters what I think about who I am.... After all, it could be that the primary purpose of identification is not for ourselves but for other people. That's what I thought. I didn't care about insisting who I was until someone disagreed... Until someone told me that I am worthless and forced me to believe it. For a while, I forgot who I seemed to be. Everything that I spent years to build crumbled to pieces in a matter of seconds. But there was always this one person who was constantly there to fix me. He has carefully and painstakingly put me together so many times, even when I tried to push him away, even when I considered myself irreparable. He smashed my walls, shouted into my muffled hearing, spared me of sugarcoated truth just to be able to reach me. He took the blow when I couldn't anymore. I suppose that was his way of making me feel that I am worth it... That someone is willing to carry the burden with me. He told me not to get lost. To never believe hurtful, biting words that are only there to destroy me. And since I only have myself to offer, to him and to everyone else I love, that may be a start to the lifelong pursuit of figuring things out... When I finally decide whatever I am made for, and whoever I am made for, it will lean to the fact that who I am right now is already valued. I don't have to begin from scratch. |
“In most books, the I, or first person, is omitted; in this it will be retained; that, in respect to egotism, is the main difference. We commonly do not remember that it is, after all, always the first person that is speaking. I should not talk so much about myself if there were anybody else whom I knew as well. Unfortunately, I am confined to this theme by the narrowness of my experience. Moreover, I, on my side, require of every writer, first or last, a simple and sincere account of his own life, and not merely what he has heard of other men's lives; some such account as he would send to his kindred from a distant land; for if he has lived sincerely, it must have been in a distant land to me. Perhaps these pages are more particularly addressed to poor students. As for the rest of my readers, they will accept such portions as apply to them. I trust that none will stretch the seams in putting on the coat, for it may do good service to him whom it fits.”
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