The Elusive Self

Inside us there is something that has no name, that something is what we are. Jose Saramago

At one point in our lives, we ask ourselves who we really are. We wonder about what makes us and breaks us. We delve into the deepest recesses of our hearts to take a peek at what drives us, what keeps us afloat, what makes us want to continue this sojourn called life. And the more we question, the more answers we get, answers which do not necessarily form one coherent response.

I often tell people that to know me, one has to gather all my friends and ask them how they have known me. Each one knows a different story. Not that I tell them different conflicting stories. It's just that the stories I tell them is a function of how we relate to each other. Some will know more of my bigger story. Some know the same amount of my story but of different facets. And in relating with them, they reflect back to me things about myself that I have never seen. Why even my dog sees something different in me which other people, including myself, have not seen.

Indeed the real whole self is elusive. He is a mystery even to my very self. But not knowing the entire self does not mean it does not exist. I believe the whole of me exists even if I only know a fraction of me. And this tells me that there is a higher Being, a God, who knows me better that I truly or all my friends for that matter, truly know me.