when too much is finally enough you've finished it all.
do you know who you are?
do you know who I am?
do you really know?
will you ever really know?
when I was in college my professor was talking about something (I'm fuzzy on the details) but he asked this one girl,
"who are you?"
"I'm Jackie."
"that tells me your name, but who are you?"
"I.. work at old navy?"
"but that doesn't define you. who are you?"
we can't define ourselves through our surroundings. it's impossible to do so. we can't define ourselves because of what we do or what we don't do. I could say, "I'm Julia, and I don't go to school right now." but that's not who I am. not in the least. I could be anything.
a thief. a liar. a cheater. a nympho. depressed. happy. creative. sick. but you won't know which one of those describes me will you? you could read my journal and try and figure me out, but you can't. Nor can I with you. You can't really ever know what I thinking, who I'm thinking about, or what I truly think of what you've done or haven't done. and I most likely won't tell you. I could say, "of course I'm telling the truth." but you won't know. you could look into my eyes to reassure yourself, but what if I've lied so many times over the years that it just doesn't show in my face? what if I've lied so many times that I can't even distinguish the truth from the lies?
but are the lies make me who I am? are they even lies? or are they truths that are so extreme that I pass them off as lies.
who am I? who are you?
will we ever really find that out?
and if we do, can we accept who we inherently are?
do you know who I am?
do you really know?
will you ever really know?
when I was in college my professor was talking about something (I'm fuzzy on the details) but he asked this one girl,
"who are you?"
"I'm Jackie."
"that tells me your name, but who are you?"
"I.. work at old navy?"
"but that doesn't define you. who are you?"
we can't define ourselves through our surroundings. it's impossible to do so. we can't define ourselves because of what we do or what we don't do. I could say, "I'm Julia, and I don't go to school right now." but that's not who I am. not in the least. I could be anything.
a thief. a liar. a cheater. a nympho. depressed. happy. creative. sick. but you won't know which one of those describes me will you? you could read my journal and try and figure me out, but you can't. Nor can I with you. You can't really ever know what I thinking, who I'm thinking about, or what I truly think of what you've done or haven't done. and I most likely won't tell you. I could say, "of course I'm telling the truth." but you won't know. you could look into my eyes to reassure yourself, but what if I've lied so many times over the years that it just doesn't show in my face? what if I've lied so many times that I can't even distinguish the truth from the lies?
but are the lies make me who I am? are they even lies? or are they truths that are so extreme that I pass them off as lies.
who am I? who are you?
will we ever really find that out?
and if we do, can we accept who we inherently are?