Who do you belong to?

Who owns you?  Take a meal that you prepared. an omelette, with all the ingredients there. Egg,milk, frying pan, fire stove, spatula, what else? a bit of oil? butter? water? OK, the omelette is done, did you just made your own omelette? Is it YOUR omelette?

Here’s the bombshell. NONE OF WHAT YOU DO OR WHO YOU ARE BELONGS TO YOU.

This hit me like a rock one morning when i was preparing breakfast. None of the things i made was made by ‘me’. Hell, even the ‘me’ isn’t made by me, its a one lucky sperm out of the millions, and one fertile egg. the sperm’s my dad, and the egg? well, sure as hell ain’t mine.

so we all got this big, to think that we made the difference. ‘I’ did it. Now that I am this big adult, doing things, saying things like ‘did you receive my email?’ Hello? which part of the email belongs to ‘you’? the message? well that is just a string of letters coming together to make linguistic sense. no the English alphabet does not belong to me, the technology that the email works on does not belongs to me. After all the ‘me, me, me.’ really can someone tell me which part does my life belongs to me?

Speaking of which, without our social world to make sense to our identity, we are just another living breathing walking meat. our parents gave us names, our school bully, nicknames. We work can called ourselves, bankers, bakers, lawyers. but really does that labels make us? No its not the other way around either, we don’t make the labels. No i’m not speaking about some positive thinking mumbo jumbo, like ‘oh, you’ve got to make some meaning out of your job, a teacher is just a teacher, but you can be a GREAT teacher.’ face it squarely, it is still a name, a label we try to escape or become.

this is really hitting the nail squarely on the head, after all the years we build ourselves to become, we are all but castles in the sky. at one whiff of the wind, we are gone, along with our precious identity and sense of self. All that we construct to be ‘us’ is nothing but a figment of our imagination. And boy, do we have one hell of an imagination!

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