Once a friend told me, in a fit of passion - or rather, petulance
- that my personality was nothing but a smorgasbord of clumsy experiences and a
mimicry of unfit role models.
She said my humour
was not my own. My way of speaking and my unusual overconfidence was something
I had learnt from having a childhood with other decile-three school students.
She said that all I did was imitate bits of everyone around me in order to create
the being that I am.
And when she said
this (obviously, not in the same words), I was offended - taken aback. How dare she accuse me of being a phony; a copy; a
replica of people that had influenced me in my short life?
In return, I spat
insults and threw hurtful words because she had gotten under my skin. I realised she was right. I was nothing but everything
around me.
But
aren't we all? Why is that something I needed to be ashamed about? What am I
without the family that raised me, the friends I make, the media I entertain
myself with, and the adventures I endeavour.
I still remember
this argument, as long ago as it was. But
now I'm not offended, mainly because there was no reason why it should be
offending. Why be ashamed of my character being moulded from my environment and
my living? How is that insulting, in any way?
Because
you try think about each and every aspect of your personality, whether it's a
good aspect or a not-so-good one. All of it can be credited to something or
someone in your life.You don't wholly own any part of your identity.
But,
I guess I just want to say, that's okay. Neither do I.
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