Who Am I

Who am I?

That’s a surprisingly good question. It should be easy to answer. If someone asked you who you were, I bet you’d rattle off an answer without a second thought. Every time you meet some one new, you can just give a simple answer. “I am—”

And there’s my problem. I don’t know.

As far as I can tell, my life started here.

That’s me.

I don't quite fit in
I don’t quite fit in

Yes, I’m green.

Yes, I know that’s not normal. No, I don’t know how I know that. I don’t remember meeting any other people. Ever.

And then there’s this.

This is all I have. What does it mean?
This is all I have. What does it mean?

It was there with me when my life— started? Picked up? How do you refer to it? Whatever. It was with me when I came to. The inscription was two words “Motie – Alien.”

I guess that’s me. It’s as good a name as anything else. I am Motie Alien. So now I have an answer to my question. Doesn’t feel right, but I’m going to need to tell people who I am. Probably fairly often.

Whatever that thing is, whatever it means, it’s all that exists of my life before this very instant. I’ll keep it safe, however I can. Maybe some day I’ll know more than I know now. But once I finish hiding that thing from any prying eyes I realize I don’t have anything else.

An inauspicious beginning
An inauspicious beginning

This is it. A mailbox, a trash can, and the clothes on my back. Not a cent to my name. Not even to the new name I’m wearing that I don’t think is really mine. I could also ask how I know what a cent is, and how I know I’ll need money despite never having seen it, but that will just lead me in the same loop as wondering how I know being green isn’t normal.

I really don’t know.

Let’s find out.


2 thoughts on “Who Am I

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