Will I ever really be my own person?
Or rather a product of desire, an amalgamation of somebody’s dreams and desires and will to be brought into creation
And so I am shaped, moulded by thoughts, views, words, experiences, bombarded from the minute that I first hit the world
Even the first word that I uttered was probably not my own, but by the insistent coaxing of any number of individuals trying to influence me with their thoughts
Even the language that I speak is not mine,
As it is spoken, handed down in code from generation to generation, foreign until it reaches my tender ears
Making sense only now that I am conditioned toward it
So I ask, what is yours?
What is mine?
Who are we?
Who are you?
Am I me?
In this world that we see
Am I ever really my own person?
…Or just a link upon the never-ending chain of humanity?