How much of our life is truly our own? The world is constantly whispering to us — telling us how to live, what to want, who to be. With time, it becomes difficult to recognize where its voice ends and our own begins. Like an echo — what do we remember? Do we find the spark within ourselves? Today I believe that perhaps we have no thought entirely of our own. Someone, somewhere, once suggested it to us, once put it into words. And later, we accept it as our own thought. It may be true, but we believe it is truly us. It is difficult to find the answer: are we truly ourselves, or are we echoes? Yes — echoes. I am your echo, and you are mine. We sail in the same boat of words. We think. The plan was already there, and so we confirm one another. Is it you, or is it me? The question is always born again. Perhaps it is better to remain without an answer. Why search? Why search in the hidden corners of the soul for questions kept secret? Maybe it is easier to simply live without an answer. We have to live, even when this life does not feel entirely ours. And yet we fulfill ourselves. We learn how to live, even when this life does not feel entirely ours. And yet we fulfill ourselves. We learn how to live.
