For most I would imagine the question of identity takes the form of who rather than what. There are a number of things that I would like to describe, a myriad signs, obscure and seemingly invisible in all of their intricate subtlety. Sadly, all I could do is attempt to paint a picture composed of references to something for which most people have not eyes. How could anyone describe the nuances and shades of a colour as they see it before their minds eye?
When looking at a human being, what thoughts go through you? I’m sure they are countless and many of them subconscious. So it is for myself, a nearly endless stream of thoughts and inquiries not given voice. All of them carried on a current of curiosity. That in itself might perhaps seem normal, the abnormality lies within the reason for that curiosity. No matter how many faces I see, no matter how many people I encounter, and regardless of the similarities I do sometimes find, the questions persist. They are like thorns underneath my skin.
Why am I different?
Am I at all human?
What does it even mean to be human?
My aura, I’ve been told, is a bright, glowing white. I have a seemingly endless supply of energy that radiates off of me as if I were some kind of furnace, an energy that envelops and welcomes with its warmth. I see without seeing, and the world and the humans in it become all the more transparent for it. I am filled with unwavering fascination, intrigued and bewildered. It was only after seeing what the others were that I realised I had no clue what I was.
I know I am not the only one. Therefore I ask, how do you know?
How do you know what you are?