((I wrote this in 2 minutes. With pen and pencil. I didn't stop and I didn't think. It is written as thoughts, not as a grammatically correct essay. But I felt very confused today, and this needed to come out. Who am I...really?))
I am my own mind. I am my thoughts and my thoughts are me. They make my words and my words make us.
I am my decisions. Even when they are wrong. But they aren't. A wrong decision is twice as right as no decision. So I am that, I own it, and I call it guts.
And I am my soul. It fills me with me, through motion and emotion. I don’t' always like emotion, especially not when it mixes with motion. When my heart hammers, head spins, the palm of my hands sweat, and I can't tell west from east. But I'm still that soul inside me. That thing. It is the same soul who dream of naked feet in flower fields and peace and love from a stage on a Woodstock festival.
My voice. Is me. If anyone hear it, or only the walls. If it's metaphorical and deep like Cohen, or just a sentence like this sentence. It's still my voice, and I can chose how to use it, and how to say what I chose to say.
And my heart. Don't forget my heart. Humble as no one else. It keeps me alive. Yet, all I do is blaming it for being so frickin' indecisive. I learned the word indecisive back in 2013. My friend had it written on his mirror. I get it now. It is one of the best words the English language have every thought me. Cause my heart is beating fast then slow, it's half-full then half-empty. But I shall not yell at any heart. It is also me.
And when the air gathers around it in a deep breath, we are one. I am one….with me!
Oh, one more thing; I am fearless. Thus, this text.
