| I think it is time to sit down and put on paper the truth because the truth tends to escape no matter how tight and light proof the box is. This is not a justification to any of my faults or failures, but rather a monologue of a stranger to himself, who�s been lost inside of a square world. I do not wish to burden you with my complaints for you must be tired of them by now, but I turn to you, because I have no one else to open my heart to. On this dark stage I am standing in the spot light in front of you, and by all means I do not want to appear weak or to aspire any sorrowful feelings. You, my dear companion are not obligated by any bonds to sit on this chair in the dark corner and listen to what I have to say. There is much joy in the world and I�ve seen it with you, so please do not feel bad or good, just honor me with your company� It is true that poets arise in struggle, and although I would not dare to elevate myself in to the ranks of poets, for my scribbling is minuscule besides their work , I do believe that one day I might join them in my own struggle� To a man the meaning of his life, the source of his energy and pride is his self-identity. It is the substance of his name, his status and himself, without such a vital part a man is nothing but a homo sapience, an evolutionary oddity in nature. The identity of self is a link which anchors the home, the tradition and the heritage to the bottom of the river of social diversity. Most people posses such a connection and they guard it as if it were an aorta that carries within it a fluid which constitutes a person, the blood of ancestors, the history� I have been asked so many times about my origins and every time I found myself lost and puzzled, with no reply. What could one reply when he doesn�t feel like he belongs anywhere? I was born on to the land to embrace it�s traditions and communions, and yet despite the persistence of many to impose conformity on to me it did not feel quite right, it was a place of birth and yet not home. Some identify themselves by the descent of their family, where as I have nothing to identify with but a mix of languages, cultures, traditions, nothing definite, no clear history. My genealogy and in it my connection with the self-identity is lost, I am a mere mutt, a product of many cultures without an association to any single one. In this problem my own inner self is lost, I do not belong to a certain place, I have not been raised in a clan where heritage is passed on from one generation to another and were home is the sanctuary of tradition�and so I linger on about without a place to truly call home in its real meaning �the history and knowledge of self is the key to finding the purpose in life, and in this story the moral is simple: Without history, there is no future. |