"Who are you?" - those were the hardest three words to hear in my life. And yet, it was just a random encounter that confronted me with this question. I went to an exhibition, modern art, a mix of philosophical questions and educational content. 

One of the pieces was a small room. Black and empty. On one wall was a body-sized mirror and through a speaker, in a loop, came a voice asking existential questions. "What is your purpose?", "Who do you love?", "Where do you call home?", and, most painful of all "Who are you?"

I am used to such exhibitions. They usually are very interesting and provoke thinking, informative about topics one does not usually think about. This exhibition was called „Self-discovery“. It promised provoking pieces from multiple artists expressing their self-discovery. Some as trans, some in their femininity, some as artists, some as their own person, not who their parents want them to be. And then there was this little black room. All sides were covered by black curtains, except for one covered by a mirror. A light illuminating the person standing in this room as if in the spotlight. Speakers asking questions. 

I hadn’t expected this. Some exhibitions had caused me to think, but this one, this one room, it broke me. 

Who am I? Who am I really? Who am I if I take away the mask?

Tears started rolling down my cheeks and I fell to my knees, the carpet was the only reason I didn’t hurt myself. I lost any kind of awareness of my surroundings for I don’t know how long. 

At some point, I must have walked out, through to the exit, the subway. I found myself on my favorite bench in my favorite park. I liked to come here whenever I needed some me-time. It looked over a pond covering half of the park, ducks of different kinds swimming around, sometimes a swan or two. I didn’t know what happened, what had made this simple piece of modern art shatter my whole self. 

I tried to think through everything in my life, tried to find all the things that define me. My job, my friends, my family, my hobbies. But at every point, I startled and kept second-guessing myself. Yes, I had this job. I had studied this field in university. But was it really a part of me, or just what I did because there had to be something? Yes, I had my friends, but are they really? Am I not just spending time with them because that is what people do? Do things with their friends? Yes, there is my family, but what would change if I didn’t? Anything at all? And yes there are some hobbies, but I don’t really do any of them passionately. If someone were to tell me to stop doing them, that would be fine by me. I identified myself with none of those things.

So, who am I then?

I sat there, no concept of time in mind. Only when I started to feel cold did I realize that it had gotten dark and the lights along the path had turned on. I got up to slowly walk home.

At home, I notice all the small things in my flat. The way I collect soft things in my bed, the pictures I chose to hang up and the ones I didn‘t, the piles of books that don’t fit on the shelf, my favorite cup sitting on the desk, and the smell of tea always in the air. All the decisions I made without realizing it.

Is that who I am? Am I the person who likes soft things? The person who likes pretty pictures, but not pictures of people? The person who enjoys a warm cup of tea and falls in love with stories I read?

Maybe I am all those things that I do without thinking about them. All the decisions that come naturally to me. The morals I have because anything else doesn‘t make sense. 

I don‘t need to be able to define who I am. I just am me.