FIRSTLY, I AM...NOT.

Well, first things first: this is the most unrewarding prompt I’ve come into contact with in a very long time. In my unsavory opinion.

Day 1/60

I once asked someone if our parents really knew us the way they thought they did. Her answer—No—wasn’t unexpected. Most of us claim to know who another person is, when in reality we don’t even know who we are.

How then do we expect to know another? 

If we do not know who we are?

To understand who I was, I had to know who I wasn’t. It’s only natural for us to drone on into the abyss about our qualities, who we think we are, the morals and standards we uphold, until we face the ugly truth of what we “can’t” do. And we realize how few they are.

Would you steal to eat on a well-fed stomach?

Would you trollop your way into greener pastures irrespective of whatever privilege you hold? Probably not, but it’s easier said than done.

At every step of the way, we must ask ourselves of what we wouldn’t do and why—a critique, rather than an appraisal.

What wouldn’t you do? Why?

Can your hand be forced otherwise?

If no, then you know what you aren’t.

Sometimes, I think about how twisted murderers have to be to snuff a life—unalive (contemporary terms are funny, and they downplay the severity of what they stand for).

How do you kill a person and get to sleep the next night?

I asked myself: can I unalive a person? Of course, my immediate response was no. I don’t think I can. Ever. Until I began to weave unrealistic scenarios in my head, and I got to one where I’d embrace the death of another human by my hands without battling an eyelid. But I was honest. Did I like the little experiment? Then, no. Now, yes. I should do it more often. I realized that I could unalive a person—it doesn’t matter how unrealistic my imagination was—if certain things aligned.

Am I a killer? Of course not. But could I be? I guess we’ll never know. 

The quest for searching for who you are will oftentimes bring you to confront questions, however unpleasant about yourself. So, I’ll tell you what I am not. Couldn’t? No, no. I’ll tell you what I wouldn’t be. I wouldn’t be a thief, a killer or the very filth that walks underneath the earth. Not the devourer of hope, or a walking lump of unbridled sadness. If I intentionally do not walk this path, —whether by myself, or by divine help—tell me, dear reader, who am I? 

Who would that make me?