Relearning To Be Me

My eyes are open, though my eyelids feel heavy, as if my body is laden with bags filled with sand. Another night has passed where I slipped into a forgettable dream—a dream that creates a reality beyond my control—only to awaken into a reality that deceives me into believing I am in control.

Waking up isn’t challenging; it doesn’t have to be. Sometimes, it feels mechanical. You simply wake up, freshen up, go for a run, or exercise your muscles, stretch your ligaments, and then sit down for a healthy breakfast.

Dress to impress, work your skincare magic, and step into the world smelling like success. From dawn till dusk, you clock in hours, making the cogs of commerce turn, contributing to a machine that rewards your toil with a pay check that meets your basic needs and allows you to indulge in pleasures and dreams.

After work, you return home, perhaps spend time with family or friends, learn a new skill, or pursue a hobby. Then, you have dinner, read a book, watch a movie, fall asleep, and repeat the cycle. It's like clockwork.

You see, waking up is simple. It’s like planting a mango seed that inevitably grows into a mango tree at the very spot it was planted, regardless of how much that seed may desire to become a rose. Its destiny was set as soon as it was a mango seed. Are we truly different in our deterministic paths?

But then, there's always the rebel in us. What if I decide to shun the sun’s call, stay cocooned, binge on digital narratives, or indulge in the epic odyssey of watching every movie ever conceived? The enormity isn't lost on me; over half a million films crafted since cinema's genesis, each a snippet of humanity’s myriad hues.

The stalwart IMDb catalogues over 500,000 titles, accounting for everything from B-movie delights to timeless masterpieces. To devour every frame would demand 95-year marathon sans breaks—a life spent, or maybe a life lived.

Who’s the arbiter of life's worth? Aren’t I a maestro of my own script? If joy resides in this pursuit, isn't that enough? But will this truly make me die happy? Will I feel fulfilled? Or will I see myself as a failure at the end of my journey?

Then again, how can I be sure that a mechanical version of myself, abiding by a system, will make me die happy? More importantly, what about living happily? Am I truly living?

If I were to break my life down into a binary system, it seems like my days are filled with binary decisions: wake up or don’t, eat or don’t eat. If eating, then choose healthy or unhealthy options, go to work or don’t, weigh the pros and cons, and make a decision. Once at work, I make a series of yes or no decisions that build, create, or facilitate processes.

Innate influences steer our choices: echoes of our upbringing, the environment, shadows of trauma, echoes of lost memories, relational tides, emotional waves, hormonal whispers, genetic codes, locations written in latitude and longitude, tales absorbed, cultures observed, credos imparted.

What we choose shapes tomorrow—a canvas painted by fears and dreams past, dappled with faith and hope, yet harbouring visions of pain, failure, and caution as life’s streams chart their course.

In the age of the internet and AI, I have the opportunity to relearn everything—what makes me who I am, what shapes me, and how I can sleep peacefully each night while truly living each day. I find myself on a planet rich with storytellers, philosophers, saints, scientists, artists, musicians, teachers, designers, dreamers, and lovers.

Relearning about myself and discovering where I belong amongst the stars is the purpose of this blog.