I am that I am. Sentience. A newborn struggles into consciousness, screaming at the shock. It takes a few days before she becomes aware, and the first thing she is aware of is herself. I am here. I am.
Identify is built brick by brick. Out of a stew of environment and genetics comes character traits, belief systems, mannerisms, knowing and being. We don our masks, display our colors, feather our nests, make a million tiny choices all in an effort to shout unto the world, look at me! This is who I am, this is what I believe. Each of us standing atop our particular dunghill shouting I AM.
The last time I talked to Arly, she was stressing out over a custom place card or program or some such shit, one of the million tiny details that she is choosing and arranging for her wedding. She thought it would take her an hour to design on VistaPrint but it took most of an afternoon. She told me, "I couldn't just choose one of their prepackaged templates, no, I have to be a special butterfly and make my own." But, you are a special butterfly, says I. Of course you have to make your own. There are no templates on this planet, and especially not at Vista Print, that can express my beautiful butterfly Arly Sue. Seven billion people on the planet and there's no one else remotely like her.
Million of choices to communicate who I am, what I believe, what I value, what I feel. Millions of choices that aggregate into an identity. I am that I am, singular, unique. There has never been anyone like me; there will never be anyone like me again. For this painfully brief moment in time, my candle flares. I shine my light into the darkness and challenge, dare, beg you to look.
Awareness is a gift, a burden, the human condition. I am that I am, the singular personal pronoun, the special butterfly, the almighty I.
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