One of the weirdest questions you can ask someone is, “What makes you you?”
Not your favorite color, not your music taste, not what you order at your favorite restaurant, I mean you.
Because your body changes, your hair changes, your face changes, your clothes change, your opinions change, and even your personality can change so much that you can look back at an old picture of yourself and think, yikes..Who even was that? Even though, obviously, you still know that was you.
The little kid who hated veggies, an awkward middle-school version of you, the person you are right now, the person you might be ten years from now. They’re all supposed to be the same person. Which I find strange.
Because like, imagine this, someone loses most of their memories. Would they still be you? Obviously, they would still have your body, but what if the things that made you feel like you were gone?
Or imagine replacing parts of your body one by one, a new heart, a new kidney, maybe someday, somehow, even parts of a brain. At what point would you stop being you? Who even gets to decide that?
That’s where the whole idea of a soul becomes interesting to me. There is something comforting about believing that underneath all the physical stuff, there is a part of you that isn’t constantly being replaced. That thing doesn’t disappear every time you change your mind, grow older, lose a memory, or become a completely different version of yourself.
Because I don’t think I’m just my face. I’m not my hair, or my height, or my voice, or the body I happen to have right now. I’m not even entirely my personality, because my personality has changed before. I’m sure it will change again. I’m a collection of memories and feelings and mistakes and dreams, but even those things don’t seem like enough.
There has to be something underneath all of that, no?
I believe that’s why the thought of a soul has lasted for so long. People have been asking these questions for thousands and thousands of years because nobody can really point to one specific thing and say, There. Right there. That’s the exact piece of me that makes me me.
Being a person isn’t as simple as having the right body or remembering the right things. There’s a part of us that can’t be measured or photographed or held in someone’s mere hands. Something that makes you look at an old photograph and say, “That’s me,” even though almost everything about you has changed.
Anyways, that’s all from me
Okay love you, bye bye!
