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.
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.
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.
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.