I don’t know who I am. I wander ceaselessly in the dark, not knowing my identity.

I’m wearing crisp business attire. I have found an identity. Nothing can bring me down as I shake someone’s hand firmly. I stand up to leave and the unwavering clacks of my steps can be heard from meters away. Clack clack clack

I wish I were as confident as her.

I see myself sitting on a bench in the park. I have found an identity. I’m throwing a handful of sunflower seeds to some birds. They hop around and are almost engulfed by the long, verdant grass. I laugh in the broad sunlight as I watch them rummage around for the seeds.

I wish I knew what true happiness was.

A paper flutters down in front of me. I’m sitting with perfect posture and writing with a certain mind. I have found an identity. The pencil glides on the paper, effortlessly.  Pencil strokes appear evenly, one after the other. The quality of my work is impeccable, and the words even line up from one row to the next.

I wish I could be as competent as her.

I hurriedly wipe my face. I have lost my identity. I’m sitting in an unlit abandoned corner, curled up against the wall. I don’t think I can walk with the same assertive clacks down a hallway anymore. Tears flow down my cheeks. This isn’t what true happiness is. I feel minuscule and lost. I don’t know who I am anymore. What was my name? I try to write it on a piece of paper in the bleak darkness. It looks incoherent, contorted, distorted, and completely opposite of the uniform rows from before. My hand shakes.

This is not me.

I am released. And so I continue to wander ceaselessly in the dark, not knowing my identity.